


Pain of Tenderness

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [9]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-17
Updated: 2009-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly takes the news well. Deanna is injured in the line of duty. A little schmoopy, as some of my older fics tended to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain of Tenderness

One handy thing -- the crew of the **Valiant** didn't seem to know what Captain Picard looked like. Jean-Luc hadn't seen any of the senior officers, but he'd seen plenty of their subordinates, and asked most of them if they knew where to find their CMO. Anonymity spared him some embarrassment; being 'the' Captain Picard tended to make people try to draw out the conversation.

The trail led him the breadth of Starbase 468 to a restaurant tucked in an unobtrusive corner. Italian -- he should have known. Beverly would kill for a decent breadstick. She had taken a booth in a back corner, as if well and truly holed up for the duration. Her hair made identification easy even in the dim lighting. She reached for a breadstick even as he came quietly up behind her. She, too, was out of uniform, and didn't seem lonely, just alone. Good.

"Hi," he said quietly.

Her eyes were wide already when her head whipped around. A smile broke across her face. She leaped from the bench and hugged him, an affectionate gesture, not a passionate one.

"Sit down, have some wine." She shoved him at the other bench. When they were seated, she planted her hands palm down on the table and leaned forward. "How the hell are you? You look great!"

"At least you complimented me. Will thinks I don't look a day over eighty. I'm doing very well, the ship hasn't imploded at the hands of the cadets, and you're not doing so badly yourself."

"I've done a lot of thinking and healing. A lot. Why haven't you sent me a response to my message? I know I asked for time, but it's been months!"

He forestalled an answer by reaching for the wine bottle. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"He's not here yet. He had some last minute things to do -- how did you find me?"

"I just happened to be flying by and looked in the window." He grinned and poured himself some wine. "Actually, I wouldn't be here at all if not for having to drop off an admiral who needed a lift from Starbase 367. I saw **Valiant** and thought I'd take the opportunity to see you in person, since. . . recording a message has been so hard for me."

"I guess I didn't make it easy, did I?" She winced apologetically. 

"It's hard to believe it's been nearly eight months since you left. Deanna's been forced to sit mournfully in the lounge staring out the window, without you around to talk to."

"Oh, I doubt that. She can make friends more easily than I can, and I've managed a few. How is she doing? What are you smirking about?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "You wouldn't believe the things she's done, Bev. I think she's going to be an officer. I think she's going to take a stab at playing catch-up. She took command of the ship in the last war games, a few months back. There were three ships facing us -- she knew they expected her to break in any direction. She went through. Knocked them out of the way, brushed them off the shields like jacket lint, going hell for leather for victory. She destroyed Riker's ship, and faked him into sitting still while she did it. You would have loved every minute of it."

"And you loved it, every second," Beverly murmured, eyes laughing, grinning her head off. "Will Riker gets a kick in the pants from your counselor. Can I see the recordings?"

"Certainly. They're best viewed in astrometrics, with Wagner playing."

She laughed. "How long are you here? Now I've **got** to see!"

"I think I can shave off half a day and make up for it -- but you're busy."

"Oh, I think my date won't mind." Beverly eyed him, arching an eyebrow. "So who is she?"

"She?"

"Jean-Luc, you can't deny it -- you've got that look in your eye."

"That's it, then. That's why everyone keeps asking the same question -- tell me, Doctor, can the look be surgically removed, or do I have to keep correcting people?"

"Someone new?" Beverly took a bite of her breadstick and chewed thoughtfully. "Someone on your ship? You wouldn't do that, though. God knows I know that."

"That's not what I remember. As I recall, I was the one who -- "

"I'm sorry, you're right. It was my fault." She sighed. "But things happen. Who knows if it would have really worked out? I'd probably have hated picking up after you -- you get terribly scattered when you're busy. I know I would have disliked the alerts in the middle of the night."

"As if a doctor never has those?" He picked up the wine glass. Blush, and a very bad one. "You've been missed, Beverly, but I think the change has done you a lot of good. I think we all needed a change."

"So **tell me** already. What's she like? Is she staying with you, or is this one of those visit-when-you-can relationships?"

The wine stung his tongue -- shoving the glass to one side, he let his hands fall to the cliche red-checked tablecloth. "I want to avoid a mistake made by a certain former first officer by saying at the outset that this was quite sudden, and it happened about three months ago. I didn't really intend -- " He ran his hand over his head uncomfortably. "The hardest part is that the whole crew figured it out almost the same day. Although there's not been too much of a negative reaction from them, quite the opposite in some cases -- I think Data's mouth is stuck that way. And Will accused me of favoritism when I put her in command during the simulation."

"Deanna," she whispered. "I should have known."

He blinked. "How?"

Beverly's sad little smile turned puckish. "Jean-Luc, she's had her eye on you for a while. She thinks she was careful about it. I've suspected for about a year now but wasn't sure she had the guts to do anything about it. What did Will do?"

"Oh, hell, what didn't he do? You knew he tried to con her into leaving for the **Lexington** with him?"

"Yep. I remember that real well. She beat a few beginning mok'bara students to a pulp that evening. The instructor made her leave the class." Beverly's blue eyes pinned him down. "Is she taking good care of you?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that."

"That's what you get for taking on Deanna Troi." She smirked. "What a way to go, eh?"

"You're taking this very well. A welcome change -- I shudder to think what might have happened, if I'd really reacted to Will the way he seemed to want."

"His ego couldn't take it, more than anything else, probably."

"That's what Dee said."

"You know, as unlikely as it seems on the face of it -- she's always been there for you, dragging you into counseling when you needed it. She knows what you need. I'll bet you have a few tense moments, though."

"A few. She had a tough time believing I wouldn't just drop her -- she knew better, but I think she's been left a few too many times in the past."

Beverly sipped the rotgut and chewed her half-eaten breadstick, then scowled at it and set it aside. "Nothing worse than a petrified breadstick." The waiter flitted up to them and Beverly declined more wine. She waited until he retreated into the kitchen, leaned across and wrapped her hand around Jean-Luc's fingers. "How are you doing this? How can you include her on dangerous missions?"

"It's her choice to be in Starfleet. I can't deny her that."

"I didn't say you should. But you're her commanding officer, and you feel bad enough when crew you hardly know are hurt in the line of duty."

"It doesn't matter how I do it. I have to, so I will."

She searched his face, her eyes unable to remain still. The unspoken thoughts came and went, changing her expression in subtle ways until she decided what to say next. "I'm happy for you."

"If you have to be, you mean?"

Rolling her eyes, she let go of his hand and slumped back against the bench. "Jean-Luc!"

"You don't sound very happy."

"I'm in shock! Three months. Wow." She picked up the breadstick and turned it end over end in her fingers. "Has she moved in yet?"

"There isn't enough room for all her things, but she doesn't seem to care."

Beverly dropped the breadstick, rested her forehead on the heels of her hands, and chuckled softly. "My god. Deanna. Years go by, she had all those. . . . It doesn't make you feel strange, knowing she's been with two of your friends?"

"I don't feel strange, only angry that you think it would matter."

"It sounds like it mattered to Will. I don't think it would to Worf. What a mismatch **that** was. You'd think after the first trip to sickbay -- Jean-Luc, you look ill thinking about that, yet you insist you could send her on dangerous missions? You need a reality check, Captain."

He pulled his hands off the table and rubbed them along his pants. Better that than making fists as he'd started to do. "Being on a mission is her choice, it's part of her job and she does it well. I suppose Worf was her choice as well, but -- it unsettled me even then. Even though I knew Worf would never deliberately hurt her."

"But he did."

Tightness across his chest kept him from breathing. When he could inhale again, he said, "It had to be her choice. The alternative is. . . unbelievable."

"She wouldn't talk to me about it." Beverly scowled at her wine. "Worf is still a good friend, and I don't know what went on between them. Deanna wouldn't hear a word against him. But he **is** Klingon, and she's terrible with personal objectivity."

"Everyone is. I've had my blind spots. I've been trying to do better -- I always feel that I'm failing, however."

"You mean like now, getting angry over the unknown past? I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. I just worried about her. . . I guess I still worry." She smiled, propping her chin in hand. "Which is silly. Sounds like you're gone on her, and anyone who knows you knows you'd never hurt her. So back to my original question -- why haven't you answered my message? I suppose you were waiting to tell me about the two of you at your wedding?"

He fidgeted, hiding his hands in his lap and staring at the tablecloth. "I'm sorry. I should have contacted you sooner than this, and not just to tell you about Deanna."

She swirled the wine in her glass and set it aside untouched. A smile flickered briefly and died. "Truly sensitive and caring people always have difficulty breaking up even the most dead and gone relationships, simply because they don't want to hurt the other person's feelings."

They sat in silence a moment. He contemplated another swig of the rotgut wine, but even grim thoughts weren't enough to motivate him to do that. "I didn't really think about it, until you confronted me. I didn't realize it was gone." He sighed, sat forward a little more, and knitted his fingers in front of him. "And there was really nothing to break off. I wanted your friendship -- I always will."

"You'll always have it. I think I came to a point at which I needed the closure. It hurt, but. . . hindsight is twenty-twenty. I think you'll be happier with Dee. I have a bad temper."

He sniffed. "I know."

She smiled lopsidedly, shaking her head. "I can't believe it -- how odd that she gets interested in you, and suddenly she's taking an interest in command."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"I'm sure it wasn't something she did just to get your attention -- "

"But it would be terribly flattering if that were so."

She put her elbows on the table and traced a few white squares on the tablecloth, smirking. "Does she make you feel young again, Jean-Luc?" Her eyes met his as she said his name and demanded an answer he couldn't give. When he sat frozen for an eternity of a moment, she nodded, her eyes laughing. "That expression makes me wish I had an imager. Let's go see the simulation and find Deanna. I want to see her. I want to hug her for making you this happy."

"You don't want to wait for your date?"

Her face fell. "I. . . lied, a little. I don't have one."

"Beverly Crusher, you mean to tell me, you're sitting here drinking this lukewarm rat urine in this cheesy restaurant for no good reason? Shame on you."

"I heard they had decent food, for a space station. And I didn't want you to pity me." A little color rose in her cheeks. 

Jean-Luc sighed. "I don't pity you. I feel badly that it all came about the way it did. I did a poor job of handling that last discussion we had that made you so furious that you frightened Data."

"Data came to me, did you know that? He said he was concerned that I was leaving for all the wrong reasons. Where did he develop sensitivity along the way?"

"Deanna, of course."

"I **didn't** know. She's teaching him sensitivity?"

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "He was concerned that he wouldn't do his job as first officer adequately without -- how did he put it -- a more imprecise, approachable, and indirect manner. He went to Deanna about it and didn't want the rest of the crew to know -- I assumed you would know, I suppose because he told Geordi and I as well."

Beverly tossed her napkin on the table. "Come on. I want to see Data now, too."

They walked the distance to the transporters, and he glanced at her in the better lighting of the broad corridors as they went along. She looked the same, hadn't lost weight or acquired any new lines in her face. Her pantsuit fit her well. She didn't ordinarily wear red shades, but she'd found a burgundy that didn't clash with her hair, which she'd stopped trying to turn blond.

She was greeted by several passing crew once they reached the **Enterprise,** and a stop in sickbay resulted in lengthy chats between Beverly and her former subordinates. While he waited to one side, he felt that subtle, insistent presence, that slippery undefinable something just short of an outright thought. He backed out of sickbay and found Deanna standing outside, as he expected. She looked furious. Her eyes, that could hold such depths of passion and pleasure, glinted like obsidian. At least the corridor was empty, except for them, for the moment. 

"What's wrong?"

"You were supposed to talk to her and leave her be. Not bring her back with you."

"She's fine -- "

"She **looks** fine, just like **you** would look fine. Both of you keep your emotions pent up inside you, sometimes until it builds up to an explosion." She glowered at him, arms crossed tightly. "This is going to be too much. It would have been better if you'd just stuck to a simple talk, then backed away."

"This was her idea ."

"Jean, you know her. You do. You're just being too optimistic too quickly. She's trying, probably too hard. But I guess it's too late."

"Is this based on something you sense, or -- "

The door opened, and Beverly emerged, laughing and flinging her arms around Deanna, who suddenly wasn't infuriated any more and returned the greeting in kind. Then the awkward moment came, when the women drew apart, and both of them looked at him.

"Well, Jean-Luc, show me this simulation you -- "

"He isn't bragging about **that** again, is he?" Deanna shot him a glare. "That was embarrassing -- there were cadets tearing the whole thing apart in the debriefing."

"The cadets failed to take into account that you weren't using the ship to fight the battle, you were using your head. I read the transcripts." He followed them toward a lift, letting Deanna take the lead. Defending her battle strategy wasn't anything new, but it was to Beverly. "Also consider you had three days to learn how to calculate distances, velocities and trajectories, get a grasp of basic three-dimensional battle strategy, take into consideration the number of vessels you had to confront and the terrain, verses the cadets and their months of command school training -- the cadets didn't know you'd never commanded in battle. They were tearing it apart because they thought they were supposed to."

They stood across the lift from him, facing him. Beverly grinned and tugged Deanna's sleeve. "You slaughtered Will?"

"Someone had to take him down a few pegs." Deanna hesitated, glancing at Jean-Luc. "If I did so well, how come I haven't been scheduled for watch for the next rotation?"

"You'd have to ask my first."

"I did. He told me to ask you."

Damn android. "Since we've been closer to the Neutral Zone -- "

"That's what I thought." She turned to Beverly, smiling, and asked after Wesley. Jean-Luc contained a sigh of resigned anticipation. He'd hear about this later, most likely.

   -----------------------

  

Beverly left for the starbase, and the **Enterprise** departed at warp six to make up for lost time. Jean-Luc took a turn around the bridge. Most of the cadets had been left off two starbases ago. Their course was taking them along the Neutral Zone; since the end of the Dominion War, relations with the Romulans had taken a significant turn for the worse. Starships were being toured along the borders on a regular basis now, staying well within Federation space but within sensor range of the Romulan border stations. 

Nothing like the posturing of the mistrustful.

"Mr. Carlisle, notify me when we reach the Neutral Zone. You have the bridge."

Carlisle smiled in his usual pleasant way. "Aye, sir. Have a good evening."

Jean-Luc acknowledged it with a slight nod, heading for the lift. Was it his imagination, or had the officers only begun to tack 'have a good evening' on their acknowledgments **after** the rumors circulated that Deanna had more or less taken up residence in his quarters?

He entered his quarters and began removing his jacket, realizing as he reached the bedroom that Deanna wasn't there. She must be still in her office, doing some of the things she'd put off to spend time with Beverly. He settled in with dinner and reports from the last few ships to tour the zone, Data's assessment of the ship's battle-readiness, and Geordi's report of routine inspections of the engines.

He looked up at last to realize that three hours had passed, and still no Deanna. Picking up his empty dishes and dumping them in the recycler, he sat at the table, elbows propped in front of him, hands together, thumbs against his forehead. Closing his eyes, he thought about not having her at his side, in his life, and allowed the pain and loneliness to grow while he hypothesized that she'd become so angry with him that she'd never return.

The door opened without warning. "Stop that!"

He looked up at her, trying to play innocent and gauge whether she were really upset or if her ire were simply at his manipulation. "I missed you."

"You could have just called me, instead of making me think something was wrong." She stalked around the table and leaned against it, turning in profile to him. "She wasn't ready for it, Jean. Not both of us, not all at once. After you left us and went back to work, I tried to talk to her, like we used to do. If it had been anyone but me, it would have been easier."

"If I'd been thinking instead of worrying about how I was going to break it to her, I might have figured out that I shouldn't -- "

"It's done. Don't second-guess." She ran a hand over his head, barely touching his scalp. When she touched the back of his neck, he reached up and caught her wrist, bringing her hand around to kiss her palm. She looked directly at him finally. "You have more work to do?"

"When don't I?"

"Is it something you're just going to get up and go back to?"

He glanced down at the padds. 

"That's what I thought." She gripped his hand and started to turn; he clung to her fingers.

"It isn't because I don't have faith in you, Dee. I took you off bridge rotation -- "

"Because you have a realistic idea of my complete lack of battle strategy and my ignorance of basic ship operations, and we're on the zone. I understand that. I only wanted to know, that's all."

"Then why is it hurting you?"

"You could have just come out and told me. You could have had Data just tell me. You don't have to protect me -- I'm an officer, after all, and I know my limitations pretty damn well, thank you. If I could sit through a briefing and listen to a bunch of kids tear apart my one and only battle, I could take the facts from you." She turned moist eyes on him. "This isn't working. You're not treating me -- "

"Yes, I am. What makes you think I would explain a change in bridge rotation to anyone before I made it? The rest of the crew receive assignments and fulfill them. The department heads handle explanations where they're due."

"I'm directly responsible to the captain and first officer, when it comes to bridge rotations. I asked the first officer and was directed to you."

"And I explained, didn't I?"

She pulled her hand away and rubbed her eyes. "You couldn't just say 'by the way, we're pulling you off the watch schedule, Dee, until we're done patrolling the zone?'"

"Now, wait a minute -- are you upset because I didn't treat you like an officer, or because I didn't treat you like a   confidant?" 

"And would you please stop bragging about the damn sim?" 

Her voice broke. That had been the real reason -- he'd told Beverly, stolen her thunder. . . unless she really didn't want him to talk about it. He only mentioned it to old friends, exchanged good-natured comments about her strategy; she'd laughed right along with them. She knew he truly was proud of her attempt, and of the way she'd pulled herself into the role with confidence and an unusually brave front. But as he thought about it, the most cutting of the joking remarks made had come from her. It sank in at last that he'd just spent three months being excessively cruel to her, without realizing it. 

She didn't even turn when he inhaled noisily, trying to compose himself. "I'm so sorry -- it didn't occur to me -- I was so proud of you that I never stopped to consider that you might feel differently about it. I didn't realize you felt so badly about what you did. I really meant it -- I truly believe you did the best you could under the circumstances. It was an accomplishment, and I'd hope my opinion matters more than a few wet-behind-the-ears Academy grads."

Head bowed, she played with the hem of her uniform jacket, hiding her face from him.

"Forgive me? Don't shut me out, Deanna."

She looked up -- at the wall, at a replicated still-life. Her cheeks were wet. "I'll be your officer, Jean-Luc. I'll follow orders, without question. I'll be your ship's counselor. Don't ask me to stand watch. Don't ask me to take command, of anything. I don't want to leave you, I don't want my own ship, and I don't want to damage your career. I'm afraid I already have."

"Deanna -- "

"If you're called on the carpet, I want you to tell them I'll resign."

"No."

She glared at him. "I want you to do it. Unless you tell me you'll do it, I'm handing in my resignation. I don't want to be responsible for the end of your career. Beverly told me Admiral H'nayison asked her about her relationship with you. Apparently rumors do get to Command that easily."

Jean-Luc sagged. There it was -- the real issue. She'd buried it beneath everything else, but this was the major reason why the topic of career vs. career had come up all over again. After weeks of domestic tranquility, Beverly had launched a torpedo and set off Deanna's fear once again. 

"When did he ask her?"

"About six years ago. She told him the truth, of course. He proceeded to ask questions of other members of her staff, and he asked Will. Looking for cause for formal investigation. He never talked to me. I was at a conference, and after talking to the others he saw no need."

"H'nayison himself? You're sure?"

"You're the captain of the flagship. You're supposed to set the example. And why not H'nayison himself? He's Betazoid, and he'd be able to tell if people lied to him."

He rose and wavered between the personal and the professional, and chose the former. Taking her hand, he looked in her troubled but resolute eyes. "Are we agreed that both of us have a right to make our own decisions?"

"Yes."

"Then allow me to withhold judgement on what I tell them until I'm confronted, when and if I'm asked. Circumstances can change, you know. I am not willing to give you up, and while my career is still important to me, I know that yours is important to you -- it's important to me, too. I saw how much you enjoyed what you did. Don't let other people's criticisms take that from you. If you really want command, you should pursue it."

"Why are you trying to confuse me? You want me with you, but you want me to pursue command? They're incompatible goals!"

"Where's the commander who blew her way through a tight spot by going as fast as she could in one direction, paying no attention to her opposition? You want me, you want command -- find a way to make it work." Taking the final step, he slipped his arms around her. She held herself stiff a few moments longer, then relaxed against him. "What happened to borrowing on my confidence?"

"Beverly said that -- "

"Don't tell me one more thing Beverly said. This isn't about her."

"She's right. If you were anyone else, even the first officer, Command might overlook it, but you're the captain. You're not just the captain -- you're the captain of the flagship. It's different."

His arms tightened around her. The anger welled in him, and he let it rise and dissipate before he spoke again. "Yes. It is different. You have a promising career ahead of you, I have a fulfilling and adventurous one behind me, and it's more logical for me to make the allowances at this point than to expect you to give up what you want to do."

"Will you please stop talking as if you've got one foot in the grave?" Tears in her voice -- she'd wound herself up to the brink of crying.

He held her by the shoulders and didn't let go even when she feinted left to get away. "Do this much, Deanna. Stop worrying about me. Just think for a while about what you really want. If you can honestly tell me you don't want to pursue command, I'll back off completely and we'll go from there."

She opened her mouth, but red alert klaxons sounded, and the computer signaled a hail. "Captain to the bridge!"

"On my way," he exclaimed. Stroking her cheek, he kissed her lightly and stepped away. "We'll finish talking later. Wash your face, and get to the bridge, Commander."

\-------------------------

 

Deanna walked out of the lift and found the bridge lit by winking red alert signals. deLio glanced at her from tactical, his drooping ear lobes and the folds of his cheeks bobbing with the jerk of his head. All his attention returned to the board in front of him. 

She disliked the smaller bridge on this incarnation of the **Enterprise** \-- they'd turned the E into a battleship, sleek and utilitarian, a response to the recent war, she understood, but still. Settling into her chair, she glanced at the screen, which showed only stars distorted by warp, then at Jean-Luc. Judging from his expression and the tight control he exerted on his anxiety, battle was imminent.

"No further contact, sir," deLio announced. "The **Valiant** is no longer answering hails."

Deanna's eyes widened. She stared at the view screen. No wonder Jean-Luc was so anxious! The other ship had departed about the same time as the **Enterprise** and headed in a different direction, along a parallel course to theirs further inside Federation space. 

"Time to intercept," Jean snapped.

"Ten minutes, sir." Natalia Greenman had been one of the few cadets to make the final cut to round out the crew. Her long pony tail had been cut to a short utilitarian bob that reminded Deanna of Ro Llaren. She kept her attention on the helm.

Data touched his console and looked up from what he read there. "Sir, the **Valiant** is off course. It appears they were ordered to divert to a crisis on Galisi, and that they were en route when they were attacked."

"What kind of crisis?"

"Apparently they have come under attack, by unidentified ships. Galisi is a small colony of two thousand four hundred sixty-two, mostly -- "

"Betazoid," Deanna finished for him. "I have cousins there. It's a new colony, started last year after the war was over. The attack on Betazed startled a lot of people out of complacency and made them think about what would happen if we were ever taken again. The colony isn't yet self-sufficient. They didn't like being so close to the Neutral Zone, but it was the best available choice the Federation could offer."

"Thank you. . . Commanders." The corner of Jean's mouth quirked a little. "Is there anything about Galisi that the Romulans would find desirable enough to fight for?"

"Unlikely, Captain. As the counselor said, they are still very new and live primitively. The last ship to stop at Galisi was the **Scheherazade**, a freighter, two weeks ago. The cargo included foodstuffs, terraforming and farming equipment, and two hundred hand phasers."

"Two hundred -- "

"The manifest is quite specific. I agree, it is rather odd that civilians would be allowed phasers." Data checked his console again. "But they requested weaponry and security personnel directly from Starfleet, citing difficulty with dissidents carrying illegal weaponry. The identity of the dissidents is not made clear; I will access the full -- "

"Valiant is in range," deLio announced. "She is still under attack."

"Drop to impulse. Identify the attackers."

They dropped out of warp and the **Valiant** swam into view on the screen, upside down and venting plasma. The smaller ship still fired on its assailants, missing three times in the few seconds Deanna watched.

deLio droned out, "Damage is significant -- hull breaches on three decks, and they have ejected their warp core. Five smaller vessels, all Federation configuration, insignia obliterated and identification codes altered -- "

"Open a channel, all frequencies. This is Captain Picard of the **Enterprise** \-- break off your attack and surrender at once or we will open fire."

deLio paused only seconds. "No response. One of the vessels is coming about -- ramming speed, aimed for deck one."

"Fire phasers," Jean barked. "Target the other vessels. Can we get a tractor on them?"

The forward phaser banks caught the vessel nearly point-blank, just off the nose of the **Enterprise,** and debris rained against the forward shields, flaring briefly on the screen. Deanna closed her eyes and folded her hands on her lap. There wasn't anything she could do but sit, in this situation. She hated feeling so useless; now that she'd been in command once, in the middle of a battle, going back to just being an onlooker felt like. . . settling.

She concentrated on the emotions around her, and tried reaching beyond. At a distance her abilities decreased significantly, but still, the vague, fuzzy presences of the **Valiant** crew and the attackers were there, at the periphery. She thought she detected the familiar flicker of Beverly at full alert -- people she knew were always more easily perceived. Beverly would be in full control, doing triage, delegating, in her way as much a commanding officer as Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc snapped out more orders as tension increased, and the crew responded -- Natalia, for all her inexperience and inner wavering, was doing well. The remaining ships were harassing them, flirting with them, taking cover behind the crippled **Valiant,** and obviously knew just what they could get away with -- they knew Starfleet technology. She knew what Jean-Luc wanted without having to sense or ask -- to capture them and find out who they were, these people in Federation vessels that had probably been stolen or purchased on the black market that those in the ranks knew existed but didn't want to acknowledge. In the smaller vessels they could maneuver out of the way with a turn on one axis. She could sense angry flares of --

She inhaled sharply, head jerking as if she'd been slapped.

"Counselor?" The captain lost a little of his edginess, turning to her. When had he become so attuned to her that he knew this should interrupt?

"One of those ships -- I thought it was Will. It has to be Tom."

His lip curled slightly, and his anxiety shifted to ire. "Maquis. I thought as much."

"They're fleeing, sir," deLio said. "In three different directions."

"Make a note of their headings. Hail the **Valiant.**"

"She's fine," Deanna murmured. He didn't look at her, but nodded curtly, rising to greet his fellow captain and offer assistance.

  ---------------------

Once the alert was over, reports made, details discussed, and the **Valiant**'s status assessed, Jean-Luc realized that Deanna had escaped into a lift to begin preparations for taking on evacuees from the other ship, though he hadn't dismissed her. Glancing up at Data, the only officer he hadn't dispatched from the briefing on some duty or another, he sighed and debated getting another cup of coffee. 

Crowding most of the **Valiant** crew into the  
   **Enterprise** would enable Barregan to limp his badly-damaged ship to a rendezvous with the  
   **T'Lingeth** on its own, leaving the **Enterprise** to continue the mission. Taking the Excelsior-class into tow would make it a big liability, if more battles were pending, and the vessel had sustained too much damage to make it to rendezvous with its full complement of crew. The hull breaches had made several decks unlivable, and some critical repairs impossible.

"Let me know when the evacuation is complete and we're ready to get under way. I'll be in my ready room."

"Aye, sir." Data preceded him from the room.

Jean-Luc crossed the bridge, glancing at the watch officers. Natalia smiled at him from the helm. Even though he never responded in kind, especially while in the middle of a crisis, she still kept doing that. 

At his desk, he brought up navigational data and studied the trajectory of the fleeing vessels, streaming out in long shallow curves from the battle site. At the limits of long-range sensors, the path of the vessel on the far right had turned inward slightly. If he extrapolated from that turn, assuming all the ships had done similar course changes once out of sensor range, all paths led to Galisi.

He was reading the background on Galisi when the annunciator chimed. "Come in," he called. Beverly strode in, looking harried but smiling with as much pleasantness as she could muster.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I won't be a minute. I didn't get the chance to tell you before I had to leave, but -- Deanna's scared to death, Jean-Luc."

Keying off the monitor, he watched her sit down, and tried to comprehend what was going on. They had to be conspiring to confuse the hell out of him. Deanna angrily said Beverly was uncomfortable, Beverly calmly said Deanna was frightened. Something wasn't quite right about this.

"From the look on your face, you're thinking we're both crazy. Deanna's so far gone she can't see straight, and you've managed to throw her off balance with this insistence you have about pushing her toward command. What are you thinking, Jean-Luc? She'd give up her career in a heartbeat if you just asked."

"This isn't -- "

"My business. I know. Deanna did a great job of keeping her nose out of our business for ages, and here I am, sticking mine into yours. But you're being a clunkhead, Johnny boy."

Her phrasing reminded him suddenly of Jack, who'd coined the Johnny boy -- she'd probably intended to remind him, as if to say Jack wouldn't approve, either. "It's not that simple. She could be good -- "

"If she doesn't want to be in command, she won't be good at it! She **wants** you. She **wants** kids. She wants a lot of things, from a warm body in bed to an ear to bend after an angry patient pops off in session. And she's getting a career-minded starship captain, obsessed with creating her in his own image."

"I am **not** \-- "

She leaned forward, intent and giving him a devil-may-care smile. "You are, dear Johnny, you are, and it's nothing I have to be a psychologist to figure out. You're going to try to ride on her coattails in your retirement. You've got this life in your veins, and you can't stand the thought of leaving it behind for an admiral's desk. You want to sit around the observation deck watching the stars and playing the flute, watching your wife fly around the galaxy."

"Get out, dammit! I have things to do, and you're wasting my time on nonsense!"

Beverly just smiled and got up. "Wake up and smell the coffee before you lose another one, Johnny. Thanks for the bellow. Now I can honestly say I've seen you mad at me."

She sauntered out of the room. Jean-Luc glared after her, but slowly, as he considered her words, his chin dropped and he sank back into his chair. 

Data interrupted his meditations with the completion of the crew transfer, and he absently gave the order to set course for Galisi, then checked the time. He'd sat there for nearly an hour. His eyes ached, and his mouth felt dry. It wouldn't do him any good to sit there in a stupor all night. He tarried long enough for a glass of water and left for his quarters.

Deanna was curled up in bed when he came in. It surprised him; with alpha shift only hours away, he'd expected her to sleep in her quarters where he wouldn't disturb her. She always woke when he came in late. This morning was no exception. She sat up, arms crossed across her abdomen, hair askew -- seeing the usually-polished Deanna Troi in disarray felt like such an intimacy. He watched her rub her eyes sleepily and grimly accepted the conclusions he'd reached after Beverly had thoroughly distracted him from work.

"Sorry about the lights -- I didn't realize you would be here." He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned to kiss her shoulder. "Got your report. I appreciate that you stayed up -- "

"Just doing my duty, Captain." She hadn't quite finished opening her eyes, and sounded tired.

He pulled off his boots and unfastened his jacket. "Deanna, I have a hypothetical question for you. If a bird and a fish fall in love, where do they live?"

When she didn't answer, he turned and found her looking at him with her patented 'I've-been-here-for-weeks- where've-you-been' expression, her reproach muted by affection and sadness. His heart gave an odd lopsided lurch.

"Please tell me it didn't just take me three months to end up on the same page with you."

"You've been denying it's an issue. Even a psychologist can't fight denial unless the patient admits there's a problem."

He fell back, head on the pillow, and groaned. "I keep ending up apologizing to you. I've just spent all this time ignoring something you obviously perceived as a problem -- that in itself is wrong. But you just let me go on doing it."

"I knew you would come around. Plus, I've had a lot of fun with you in the meantime." A little smile appeared at that.

He smiled, not so little, remembering. "Yes, there is that, isn't there? So what do you want, Deanna?"

"It's the wrong hour of the day to ask such questions." She reached to turn out the lights, and unfastened his pants in the dark as if she'd been doing it for years. All the little things like this, all the bigger things like picking up after him, she did without his asking. She'd stepped in and taken over his private life without hesitation, in spite of insecurities she'd expressed about the future. He wondered if he'd yet managed to make her as happy as she'd made him. She seemed to be, most of the time, but he knew he'd been a mostly-distracted lover lately.

She got him in bed, leaving the rest of his clothes on the floor, and settled against him comfortably. Her body smelled like sandalwood; even as late as she'd gotten in, she'd taken a bath and used her favorite salts. 

"Sleep, Jean."

"I can't believe I allowed myself to be so oblivious."

"Stop kicking yourself, or I'll do it for you. We'll work it out. You will. I believed that all along, or I wouldn't be here. All my earlier paranoia notwithstanding, I'll hold you to it."

He listened to her breathe in the darkness, thinking and trying not to **feel** too much about things. At length she sighed and found his face with her fingers.

"Do Betazoids always attempt to put people to sleep using the finger-up-the-nose technique?"

"No, that's the Vulcan method. Sorry. I was -- "

"Going bowling?"

She butted his shoulder with her forehead and groaned. "Are your friends all that cruel? How many bald jokes do you know? "

"Lieutenant Billiard Ball, put a shine on it and you can just blind the enemy. . . . I've lost count. There are too many. They sound even worse when the joke teller's drunk."

"Billiard ball. That's as bad as Betazoid jokes. How many Betazoids does it take to change a light bulb? None, they're too busy feeling the broken bulb's pain to notice it's dark."

"That's the most demeaning thing I've heard out of your mouth."

"Yet I've heard people laugh at it. I never told that one to anyone before, not since someone said it -- " She sniffed. "Funny how such an old memory can still hurt."

"Who would do that to you? Who would be that cruel?"

"Someone I went through survival training with, at the Academy." She was slow about saying it, and he realized that she was actually opening up enough to start telling him something other than the funny anecdotes. In some respects she was more private even than he was. "My group failed."

"A lot of cadets do. It doesn't mean complete failure."

"I wasn't as good then at masking my reactions, or handling other people's pain. Zizi -- that's what we called her, she was Caitian and none of us could pronounce her name -- climbed a tree to get bearings on where we were, and fell out. She was a mess of compound fractures by the time she hit the ground. I felt every blow. She'd broken her wrist but kept trying to use that hand anyway to catch branches -- I'd never felt that much pain before in my life. It turned me into a sobbing mess. Caleb got angry at me because I couldn't stop crying and I wouldn't help him carry her the rest of the way -- I knew she was in too much pain for being carried. Every step, every jolt would have hurt her, and me. We had to call for pickup without completing the exercise. He told the joke to the whole class after the debriefing. I wanted to die. I almost packed up and left for home. Mother would have consoled me and told me it was all over and we should just go shopping -- but all I could think of was Daddy, dying in the line of duty, and how proud he was to serve. So I died in the line of duty, and I died again and again until I figured out how to separate myself from other people's pain."

She spoke matter-of-factly, but imagining her in that situation, and knowing what other kinds of situations she would be forced into in the Academy -- he couldn't speak for a few minutes. This, more than watching her on the bridge in the sim, spoke volumes about her dedication to her career. Or at least about her dedication while at the Academy. There was a significant gap in between, the years of being counselor and seeming uninterested in anything more.

"Don't Betazoids have a kind of training to help you learn to shield?"

"I'm not exactly telepathic. I tried. And the people who tried to teach me how took pity on me, and I could tell when they did."

"It still pains you, after all this time." He used the edge of a thumb to wipe tears from her cheeks.

"A little. It pains you more to hear it."

"Damn -- I'm sorry -- no wonder you don't say much about your past."

"Jean, darling, you need sleep. Please try to relax and forget about it. I shouldn't have said anything, it serves no good purpose to remember those things. I can't turn back time and change it, and neither can you. I'm fine -- better than fine. I'm with you." She rested her cheek on his shoulder. 

He tried settling himself, closing his eyes, but the thought of how she must have suffered -- his own Academy days, much as he enjoyed remembering the good times, had had their own moments. 

This wasn't going to let either of them sleep, either. He forced his mind to pastoral scenes. Vineyards. Treehouses --

After another lengthy pause, he sighed in exasperation. 

"Still can't sleep?" she whispered. Without waiting for an answer, she raised her head, then sat up. She slid her hand over his chest, the motion slow and sensual, probably because she'd picked up on what he was feeling, after thinking of her on the holodeck visiting the places of his boyhood, including the treehouse that had been his favorite place to take girls. Starlight caught in her dark eyes. His hands found her body through the silk shift and pulled her toward him.

"Ma belle cygne," he breathed. "J'ai besoin de vous."

Deanna's mouth demanded his attention, her tongue pushing past his teeth. Through her thin white shift, he felt the flutter of her heart against his chest. A familiar tingle slithered under his skin, starting in his chest and working its way outward, quickening his own pulse. 

Reality became nothing more than the touch of her hands, as thorough as her continued exploration of his mouth. His body seemed to do her bidding without conscious thought on his part, while he floated somewhere in what he'd learned was her sensations, combining with his, compounded by his response, then by her response to his response -- the feedback loop overwhelmed him, beyond anything his synapses were designed to handle. He became two entities, almost, the one soaring with her like firebirds in the night, the other reveling in his hands against her skin, her mouth on his, her body moving against him, coaxing him to join her in the flames.

He came back from nirvana to find her tucked up against him in his arm, running the tip of her tongue lazily around a nipple, one hand over his heart. His body thrummed like a plucked string, his breath slowing as he relaxed into sated languor. 

"You're sure you're not half-Deltan instead of half-human?" he husked, closing his hand on hers.

"Judging from your reaction to a mere empath, a Deltan would kill you." She laughed, but silently -- the light tickling of it raced around under his skin, standing his hair on end.

He never remembered what he did in these mind-blowing trips she took him on, though she insisted he never lost control of himself. All that remained to him were the sensations, and then that blazing, soaring overload at the end that obliterated the memory of all but the emotions. Such trade-offs. At least he remembered how it made him feel. She didn't do this to him every time, which was probably wise; he doubted he'd be able to think straight if she made a regular habit of it.

"I'm beginning to wonder why there aren't more shore leaves taken on Betazed."

"Obviously because such things aren't taken so lightly as you think. It's too intimate for casual encounters. That curiosity you're feeling is about former lovers, isn't it?"

It wasn't the first time she'd sensed it because he'd felt it before, especially after the first time she had taken him soaring with her, but it was the first time she'd acknowledged it. "I'm not going to ask."

"Then I won't tell."

She seemed content to leave it at that, shifting to put her head alongside his on the pillow and draping herself over him. After a long silence, he sighed. "Dee. . . ."

"No one."

It brought him off the bed, leaning on an elbow looking down at her in the near-darkness. "Really?"

"Not like this. The only one who came close was also an empath, and it was such a minimal amount of time we spent together -- it's taken some time to develop between us. It isn't something I can force or control, really. This isn't anything covered in a textbook somewhere that I've been able to find -- it's just me." She touched his chin lightly, ran her fingers down his chest. "Just you, just me."

"Not even. . . Will."

"I was young, and as I say, this isn't something I control. I was close to Will in a different way. We might have been closer if there had been more time or I'd been older -- talent of the mind seems to develop more as one ages. The others -- there were instances I thought it might be something more, but again, no time to develop it, or inclination either. The only one who had that much time was Worf, and it never happened with him."

"Did he hurt you? Tell me he didn't -- tell me you didn't let him hurt you." He ran his hand down her shoulder, around the base of her neck, letting his fingers ride over the contour of bone and tendon. This would likely be the only chance he had to find out. She was talking so freely about things that he'd wondered and knew he had no right to ask.

"He's a Klingon," she whispered. "Pain and pleasure are one and the same, it's just a matter of degree. Some people's neurons can take more stimulation than others. He realized at some point that he would never be able to lose control completely without really hurting me, and it was the beginning of the end, and then he was gone. I was grateful he didn't really want to talk about leaving, he just packed up one day and it was over. I was tired of the bruises anyway. No, Jean -- no."

Jean-Luc sat up the rest of the way and rubbed the back of his neck. She got up and crossed her legs, pulling the scattered covers into a ball in her lap. He tried to banish the things his imagination was cursing him with. "I'm sorry. I can't help being angry. It's just impossible. . . . Images of Worf in battle, the look on his face -- then to think of him **touching** you -- "

"It wasn't like that. And why is it you want to talk about these things? You've been curious before, but never this much."

"It's part of who you are. Who you were. You've told me so little about your life -- what we end up talking about is usually something I've already known about, from serving with you on the **Enterprise.** We laugh about old lovers but never really say much about them. And I've always wondered if he treated you well. It's none of my business, but I feel -- " He hesitated, searching for the words.

"Proprietary interest."

"Yes, exactly. That's exactly what it is. And I just can't reconcile the Worf I knew with -- "

"Don't try. The dichotomy isn't as great as it is with you, but he really was a different person privately. Most people are."

"I've met a few who are who they are, regardless of situation."

She brushed her hand along his shoulder. "All situations? Even naked in bed?"

"Well. . . fewer of those."

She smelled of perspiration, sex and sandalwood, an interesting mixture. He looked at the curve of her throat, pale among her curls, and ran a finger down it, feeling the vibration when she spoke.

"You know what I love the most about being with you like this?"

"What's that, chère?"

Her lips curved in a rapturous smile as his fingers traced her collar bone. "The way you touch me. Like you can't believe I'm real, or that I'll break unless you're careful, or like you can't get enough of the feel of my skin. You're so gentle."

"Alas, my poor dwindling ego. From red hot lover to gentle."

She laughed aloud at his woe, knowing that she could because of his underlying pleasure that he'd made her laugh. "I made a shirt to wear around the ship that says, 'Jean-Luc Picard -- he makes it so.' In big flaming letters."

"Merde." He didn't even try to stop grinning. They'd come full circle. She could still tease, still be happy, and so could he, even though somewhere deep inside part of him still felt broken at the thought of people deliberately hurting her.

"Speaking of your pet phrases -- just why is it you've started to say 'come in' these days instead of just 'come?' Afraid I'll take you up on it standing in a corridor somewhere?" 

"Actually, yes."

"A wise precaution. You know, that little growl you get sometimes in the back of your throat really turns me on."

"If I wasn't so tired. . . . But that was the idea, wasn't it?"

Between them they rearranged the covers and their arms and legs into a satisfactory position. The last thing he remembered was the touch of her fingers on the back of his head, playing with his hair.

\---------------------

 

Deanna woke when he rose, as she'd trained herself to, and instead of lingering in bed she waited until he was in the shower and quickly managed to have the room picked up by the time he emerged. She hadn't done it in a while; life had been hectic, and he honestly didn't expect her to pick up after him, or herself for that matter. That he was a clandestine mess-maker had surprised her. His ready room, any room that might have visitors in it -- he kept those spotless. His keepsakes he carefully kept put away, even in the bedroom, but clothing? If it could be flung, it would end up behind a chair, or under the table. She suspected it had something to do with the necessity of being on duty in ten seconds or less -- he'd blaze through like a whirlwind changing clothes, and leave the mess for later. And it became habit to leave it that way all the time, as it did for many single people with no one else around to care. 

She put his coffee on the table in the front room with his croissant and the bounty of padds she'd liberated from the mess, and crossed paths with him at the bathroom door, exchanging smiles; they rarely spoke this early.

When she'd put on her uniform and done her hair and makeup, she joined him at the table, only to find him sitting with both hands flat on the table in front of him, eyes half-lidded, in deep thought. She took the remaining bite of croissant and tore little pieces to nibble, elbows on the table and glancing at him every so often, waiting.

He bowed his head at last, and put a hand on her back, pulling her closer. "You grew up on Betazed."

"Yes. In a series of houses. For a while, in the Starfleet housing, then in the house at Lake Elnara where Kestra died, then in another house outside Ejorra -- even a few years in the actual Fifth House, but the only good part about that was the long halls with shiny wood floors. You could get a running start in your socks and slide for a long time before you lost your balance. And the bannisters made great slides. But people kept touring and when there were groups I couldn't -- "

"There's actually a Fifth House?"

"You can even see the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and the Holy Rings. Which aren't that impressive, really, but on a good day they pull a few hundred tourists through."

He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. "I can't believe I've never even thought about the possibility. For some reason, I assumed the Fifth House was some sort of family designation and nothing more."

"Mother. She never strikes anyone as aristocracy. But it's the only way she gets away with being so eccentric."

"You're a. . . ."

"Daughter of the Fifth House. Unfortunately." She sighed and ate the last bit of croissant. "Another reason for the other cadets at the Academy to look at me funny."

Again, he seemed more disturbed by it than she was. He rubbed her shoulders and sniffed, amused by some sudden thought.

"We should go," she said, and it seemed to wake him out of his reverie. He pulled her to his chest and held her longer than usual, his emotions in such a mixed state she couldn't label his mood. Stroking the back of his neck, she returned the embrace measure for measure.

"Why do you do that with your fingers? What is it about touching the back of my neck?"

She backed away and checked his uniform for stray makeup smudges or long black hair. His hands still gripped her arms; he didn't seem to want to let her go this morning. "You really want to know?"

"I've learned not to ask unless I really want to know."

"It's just a place no one ever touches -- an intimate spot. I used to sit on the bridge and look at the back of your neck, and I wanted to reach out and run my fingers down, then rub your shoulders -- "

"Don't -- just let's leave it at that."

She indulged in an impish grin. "As you wish. I'll finish it later." She led the way out the door. Jean followed close behind her to the lift. "Bridge," she said, smiling at the ensign already inside and now at nervous attention.

"You said you had cousins on Galisi," Jean said. 

"Yes. Mother's cousins, actually."

"Do you know them well?"

"Not really. They'll know me on sight, probably, if we happen across them, but it's been so long and I was so young the last time I saw them that I'm not sure I'd know them if I saw them."

He smiled a little, lights in his eyes. "You expect me to believe you haven't changed much since you were a little girl?"

"It's. . . not how I look that they'd recognize, Captain. Betazoids don't develop telepathy, or in my case empathy, until they're in their teens. I was a child the last time I saw my cousins, but they will recognize my. . . aura. There's no word for it in Standard. The sense of someone's individuality. Everyone has it, even non-Betazoids."

The lift opened on deck six, and the ensign scurried out. Jean's head turned toward the movement as if he'd forgotten there was someone else in the lift. She sensed rather than heard his sigh. 

"At least you didn't do anything **too** scandalous," she said.

He stood quietly with his usual poise as the doors shut and the lift resumed, and for a moment she thought the rest of the ride would be silent. Then a trickle of remembered pleasure and love reached her. He watched her, face composed and formal, then leaned close suddenly.

"Thank you, for being there last night," he murmured. "I know you must have been tired."

She smiled. "I thought you might be a little too tense to sleep well."

"Talking was nice, too. It's been a while since we really talked about anything other than work or other people." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "When this mess is over, or at least at an impasse for a few hours, why don't we spend some time on the holodeck?"

"How could I refuse a date? It's been -- "

"A month. I've taken you for granted that long. I completely lost track of time, and you've been too patient -- I'm sorry."

"Occupational hazard of being in Starfleet. Bring me chocolate and flowers, and I'll forgive you."

He smirked, an unusual thing for him. "Aren't you easy to please?"

"No, but this was your first major slip-up. I'll be a lot less forgiving second time around. I'll make you take me bowling."

They entered the bridge with professional faces in place, and she felt the amusement of several people at their arrival together. As she followed him down the short slope from tactical, she happened to glance down and her heart stopped. Obviously she hadn't picked up as thoroughly as she'd thought. He'd somehow managed to get a pair of her panties stuck in the leg of his pants.

She darted a foot forward, hooked the waistband with her toe, and they shot off behind -- damn. Well, at least if they were found behind Data's chair, she could claim innocence, and so could Jean-Luc. And Data could get a dose of the eyebrow-wagging and evil grinning for a change. Luckily, no one appeared to notice her little dance step. deLio, the only one normally in a position to see clearly, was at one of the terminals along the right side of the bridge explaining something to an ensign.

She went to the briefing room while Jean stopped on the bridge to talk to Data, got herself some coffee, and settled in her place at the table with practiced serenity as the other officers began trickling in.

  ----------------------

"I've asked a member of the **Valiant** crew to be here, since they've been briefed already on the mission. Captain Barregan left his second officer, Lieutenant-Commander Haymore, for that purpose." Jean-Luc looked up as the door opened, and the aforementioned Haymore came in. He caught a sudden motion from the tail of his right eye -- Deanna had brought her head up. 

"Mr. Haymore, welcome aboard. I wish it were under better circumstances. Perhaps you could tell us something about this mission we're inheriting from you?"

"Certainly, Captain," Haymore said, prying his eyes from Deanna. He sat down between Carlisle and deLio and proceeded to regurgitate the information Jean-Luc had already read about Galisi, class M planet, Betazoid colony. . . . 

A sour feeling in the pit of his stomach that wasn't there before made him wonder why his usual coffee and croissant would have such an affect. He felt it fade again just as suddenly as it'd come. He glanced around the table, a way of finally looking at Deanna; she listened politely enough, hands folded on the table in front of her, eyes focused somewhere midway between her and Haymore on the table.  

"The dissidents are using Galisi as their base, setting down in a remote part of the planet. The colonists don't have the resources to defend themselves, let alone track them down and apprehend them." Haymore had a buzz cut, pale yellow hair and freckled skin, and his mouth never lost a certain cocky twist in one corner. He spoke with a detached, professional tone, but his watery blue eyes kept returning to Deanna. "The ships arrived a few months ago, so far as anyone can tell. They didn't make their presence known until they needed food. At first they stole it quietly enough, but when security measures were taken, they began planting bombs and making demands. The Betazoid government appealed for weapons and security from the Federation several weeks ago. Then the dissidents planted a bomb in a public place, and killed two and wounded ten. That's where the **Valiant** comes in. We received orders and recalled everyone from leave early to get there. Obviously someone tipped the dissidents off and they sent a friendly little greeting out to meet us."

"It is not clear what the dissidents are dissenting," Data put in. "They appeared from nowhere and took up residence on a small continent in the southern hemisphere. Estimates of their numbers are difficult. They are well-equipped and apparently lack only food, or the resources to replicate it."

"Galisi required some terraforming," Deanna put in. "The planet does support lower life forms, algae and microbes mostly, but the ground was unsuited to growing non-native crops and needed extensive modification before planting could begin. The dissidents are probably unable to do so, as they likely do not have access to terraforming supplies or hydroponics equipment. Otherwise they might have tried growing their own food and stayed in hiding."

"You have no indication of who these people are?" Jean-Luc asked, directing it to Haymore.

"As you probably noticed, their ships are Federation, some of them even former Starfleet vessels. We got a make on one of them as being stolen from the boneyards during the war." Haymore scowled. "I suspect former Maquis, disenfranchised and trying to make a home here."

"If they are Maquis, they're being too careless. The Maquis can hide in a hole in the ground and pull it in behind them." Carlisle knew that well; he'd spent most of the war on a vessel stationed at DS9.

"They could **want** the attention, to draw starships here from some other activity elsewhere along the zone," Deanna said.

Jean-Luc nodded thoughtfully, and noticed Haymore staring at her again. It was beginning to annoy. "Our ETA, Mr. Data?"

"Approximately two hours, sir. I have sent a message to the Galisi government informing them of our situation."

"deLio, have security teams standing by -- if these are former Maquis, this should be a fairly straightforward mission. Counselor, you're certain about what you sensed during our brief encounter with the rebels?"

"Yes, sir, I'm quite positive."

Haymore shifted in his seat, just enough to get Jean-Luc's attention. "Something you wish to add, Commander?"

"No, sir -- nothing to add. As you said, this should be a straightforward mission. Unless they have more ships lying in wait."

"Commander, how did they manage to cause such overwhelming destruction to your ship?" Geordi asked. "There were only five of them. And they were a lot smaller than an Excelsior-class."

"One of them feigned engine trouble and used fake prefix codes to get us to drop out of warp. We were about to start beaming out the crew when the supposedly-crippled ship fired a torpedo into our primary hull, and the others uncloaked and opened fire point-blank."

Having spoken to Captain Barregan himself, Jean-Luc knew this, but not all of the officers did, and Deanna's eyes widened. Cloaking devices might mean Romulan involvement.

Jean-Luc dismissed them after a few conjectures that went nowhere were exchanged, and his officers went their way quickly, especially Geordi, Data and Carlisle. deLio and Dr. Mengis spoke in low tones a moment and left together. Haymore still sat, looking at Deanna even more openly than before.

Jean-Luc turned to her and paused. She rescued him. "Captain, you wished to speak with me about Ensign Greenman?"

"Yes, I do. In my ready room in five minutes, if you would?"

"Yes, sir." She rose and left the briefing room without looking at Haymore. Jean-Luc picked up his cup of coffee as he rose.

"Captain?"

"Commander." Jean-Luc hesitated and turned a cool look on the man.

"You put your faith in an empath?"

Realization flowed through Jean-Luc like slow ice. Usually, people assumed she was telepathic. Keeping his demeanor even and professional, he said, "Commander Troi has been an exemplary officer, and her judgement has proven to be sound more often than not. Are you suggesting that I should mistrust her?"

He didn't react, not outwardly anyway. "I just find it unusual that you would rely on sensation of emotion as part of an investigation."

Jean-Luc gazed at him across the table for a long moment, until Haymore shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I rely on my officers, Commander. Especially the ones with whom I have served the longest, and in the most dire of circumstances, who have repeatedly saved my life and the lives of the rest of the crew. That happens to include Commander Troi."

"Most captains refer to their counselor as counselor," Haymore commented. 

"Most captains do not have counselors who are also ranked bridge officers. If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to."

Jean-Luc made it across the bridge to his ready room without spilling his coffee. Deanna was already there, sitting in her usual chair, hands folded in her lap; she waited for him to sit down. "You're furious," she announced point-blank.

"Who is he?"

Her eyes held a quiet pathos, and her voice was even. "Caleb Haymore."

"I should have known. I should have guessed -- you didn't just pick that story at random last night."

"I assigned all the **Valiant** crew their quarters. I saw him among them. I was thinking about him, and so when we spoke of cruel jokes it naturally reminded me again. Jean, don't be angry on my behalf."

"Insufferable. I wish you had told me last night. I would have insisted that Barregan take him and leave someone else."

"Which is why it's a good thing I said nothing. You don't have to protect me, Jean-Luc. He's a fellow officer, nothing more, and I can handle whatever he might try to do." She left her chair and paced slowly around the end of the desk. "It's been a long time since the Academy. He's probably not the same person, in spite of his disapproval of me, and I'm not that helpless little empath any more. Don't worry about me. Don't let a silly personal grudge prejudice you against the officer."

He inhaled roughly, contained himself, and looked up at her. She leaned against the edge of the desk, close but not too close, crossing her arms. 

"Now, about Greenman -- I did need to talk to you about her. She's been coming in to see me since she came aboard, and I think I should bring one thing to your attention. And it's not about her trying to flirt with you in the gym, so don't look like that. She's expressed a great interest in discussing Wolf 359 with you."

"I hope you told her that's out of the question."

"Let me finish, please. Her father was lost in the battle. She believes you would be able to remember him if he were assimilated. I've been dissuading her, but if she does approach you, please don't get angry and snap at her. Just redirect her somehow, or think of somewhere you need to be." 

Jean-Luc nearly protested -- but this was the counselor speaking about a member of his crew, not Deanna making a personal request. Emotions weren't an appropriate basis for reacting to this issue, no matter how much he didn't want to deal with this sort of thing.

"Don't make that face. I know you don't like it when people just walk up and start asking about the Borg -- that's why I wanted to prepare you, just in case. She likes you -- not as in having a crush on you, but she admires you as a captain and she has a positive image of you from the way you handled your encounter in the gym. She's having a hard time adjusting and making friends. I know you think she's got some potential, and that you'd regret it if something you did hurt her chances. She's making progress finally, but a bad experience with her captain -- "

"Fine. I'll remember. I'll even add it to my to-do list -- don't undo the counselor's work. Right between teaching Data how to tell a joke, and figuring out who the hell left a pair of panties on my bridge."

"You did."

His eyes snapped up to her face. She was laughing and trying not to, holding her hand over her mouth. "What?"

She sobered as much as she could. "I'm sorry -- there wasn't a chance to tell you. When we came out of the lift, I saw you had them stuck in your pantleg and snapped them out with my toe before anyone could see them. I thought it would be better for anonymous panties to land behind Data's chair than be seen in the captain's cuff."

"Then I suppose it will have to remain an unsolved mystery." He smiled, then sat back in his chair and went suddenly wide-eyed. "Unless. . . Data thinks to run an analysis on them, and finds out they're yours."

"Data has them?" Deanna gaped. "Oh -- "

But he grinned and pulled them out of his sleeve, dangling them from a finger. "I saw you do it out of the corner of my eye."

She refrained from launching herself into his lap and getting even, as he knew from the look on her face she desperately wanted to do; she'd promised not to be overly-familiar in certain areas of the ship, ready room and bridge especially. She settled for snatching the panties from him.

"You're going to pay for that," she exclaimed.

"And I look forward to every minute of it," he murmured, grinning.

  ------------------------

 

Deanna sat down with her plate and smiled at Beverly. "I knew you wouldn't have had breakfast yet. Last night you looked like you could sleep for three days." 

"I still feel like I should." 

Deanna studied her friend, wondering if weariness were the only reason she couldn't seem to pick her eyes out of her plate. "What's wrong? You're trying to hide something from me, aren't you? I can tell, remember."

"When are you going to relax and start talking to me again? Yesterday you treated me like a polite acquaintance. You used to talk to me. Is it really that hard for you?"

Now Deanna stared at her food, wishing she'd just gotten more coffee and a small pastry. "I don't like making you feel uncomfortable -- "

"Dee. The only way it will get more comfortable is through exposure. I know I still have these little twinges of regret or discomfort or whatever, but you know as a counselor that it's not going to get better by avoiding it. This isn't about me at all. It's you who's really uncomfortable, isn't it?"

Deanna glanced around them at the other diners. The lounge was full, of **Valiant** crew mostly and a handful of people just off gamma shift. No one seemed to be paying attention to their quiet conversation, having their own less-quiet discussions to attend to.

"I . . . can't claim objectivity in this situation," she murmured, picking up her fork. "I'm having difficulty untangling my own feelings from yours, or Jean's. Yesterday I chided him for bringing you back to the ship because I thought it was too soon for you -- when I saw you last night and now that I see you here, I'm beginning to realize that it really is my own fear. Will was so. . . ."

"Hey, don't get upset. I'm not going to throw a tantrum." Beverly reached across the table and squeezed her arm. "Deanna, I understand you must feel awkward because you could sense things from both of us all those years. But if you'd settle down and stop being paranoid, you'd sense that it's okay for you to relax."

Deanna stared at Beverly's perfectly-manicured nails, a more comfortable thing to look at than her face. "As I'm so fond of saying, emotions don't pay attention to what you ask of them, they just do as they please and leave you to deal with it. The only antidote is time. And after Will's reaction, and how angry you were when you left, I worried about seeing you again."

"Was Will really that unbearable?"

"Oh, Bev, I don't understand how he could have thought -- but he assumed, when he found out you left angry. . . ."

"Come on, you can say it. Boil it down to the simplest terms. Will Riker suffered a bruised ego and got all defensive because he thought you turned him down to steal Jean-Luc from me." She sniffed into her tea. "Good grief, it sounds like a terrible romance novel, doesn't it? Except there was no stealing, no real melodrama, just a shifting of attention and emotion. Something tells me Will didn't suffer long. He spent all that time on the D making sweet love to every -- "

"I know the list, you don't have to say anything more." Deanna rolled her eyes and took a few bites of her omelette. Then she grinned a little. "It was really funny in a way, though, seeing the two of them working it out between them. Will and his wounded ego, and Jean's discomfort and irritation at him for presuming to have any say in any of it."

"Oooo, details, please."

"I shouldn't."

"Yes, you should. You don't have to preserve that impenetrable Picard privacy with me, I can keep secrets."

"But can you keep from giggling at him when you see him?"

Beverly leaned across the table over her half-finished breakfast. "Oh please, fess up. And forget Riker -- what's it like being admitted into the inner sanctum? Once you get behind all the composure and the propriety."

"I don't think I should."

"You've been poisoned. Tainted. He's brainwashed you. I'm so disappointed -- here I was counting on you to satisfy that decades-long curiosity about why his old lovers come looking for him."

Deanna couldn't look at her any more. She played with her eggs, no longer interested in eating them but lacking any other distraction.

"Oh, Dee -- I'm sorry. Don't look like that. Is that a sore subject? I'm sorry, I should have realized, it's only been a few months and it's still so new."

Deanna resigned herself to it, just to ease Beverly's anxiety. "It doesn't seem to be a big deal to mention them, either in jest or in passing. We've only talked with any level of seriousness once, briefly, and that was almost too painful for him."

"Why?" Beverly whispered. She shoved her forgotten food out of the way and leaned on the table.

Deanna glanced around uncomfortably. No one was paying any attention to them; the tables on either side of them were now empty. "Because it was about Worf. Because Jean can't stand the thought of someone intentionally hurting me."

Beverly's expression halted her confession. The doctor's fingers tightened on her arm, her eyes incredulous and serious. "Did Worf hurt you?"

"What?" The redirection caught Deanna off guard. It probably shouldn't have, but she'd been drawn into thinking about Jean's reaction rather than what he'd reacted to.

"I saw you in sickbay a few times. I saw the logs, of when I wasn't there myself and you came in at night -- "

"He didn't. Not intentionally, and not -- "

"Why haven't you ever talked to me about it? The breakup, I mean?"

"I couldn't. There wasn't anything to it -- he just left."

"I never figured it out. What you had in common would fit in a gnat's ear with room for a surgical swab." The corner of Beverly's mouth rose. "I always pictured you with someone much more. . . calm. Someone who wouldn't make an empath's life hell with a lot of raging emotional turmoil and non-communicative habits."

"There isn't anyone who doesn't have emotional turmoil, Bev. Even Vulcans have it every so often."

"But Dee, cracked ribs and fractured wrists don't lie."

Deanna turned and looked out the window at the stars. She considered her options; putting Beverly off would only mean being confronted again later. She was being too insistent. 

"I think I wanted to prove to myself I could handle it," she said at last. She faced her friend's concerned gaze again. "I wanted to prove that I was tough enough. For years, every twinge of hurt or anger around me felt like -- like needles in my head, like lit matches under my fingernails."

Beverly stared at her icily. "You intentionally let him -- "

"No, it wasn't like that. It was gradual -- he didn't want to hurt me. He only did as I asked -- he was only being what he was. At first the attention was flattering and he went out of his way to be kind, but there came a point at which we became more familiar, and he started to let his true nature out. The boundary between pleasure and pain is a fine line. I stayed longer than I probably should have. But I wanted to be more than just a walking nerve ending, always experiencing other people's feelings. I wanted to live them myself for a change. And emotion was really all I shared with Worf, and it came to its logical conclusion, in the end. Since there was so little else, it couldn't be sustained."

"You actually talked about this with Jean-Luc?"

Deanna sighed heavily and sagged, shoulders slumping. "I tried. He got angry. I don't want to damage his respect for Worf, or me, and I have the feeling he wouldn't understand why I would let myself remain in such a relationship. He'd be angry at me, too."

The stars shifting from streaks at warp to stationary points of light got their attention. Deanna stared out the broad bank of windows, as a cloud-hazed silhouette of a planet edged into view. She turned her attention inward and tested the tenor of emotions around her, finding Jean's presence, solid and reassuring, surrounded by the rest of the crew in fuzzier focus. Then she turned her attention forward.

"Galisi," she said. "I can hear them."

"Who?"

"Betazoids. Their minds. Nothing distinct, just a. . . flavor. It's like home." Strange how attractive that feeling was. She hadn't been home in a few years.

Her comm badge chirped. "Data to Counselor Troi."

"Yes, Data?"

"Report to transporter room four. The captain has requested that you join the away team."

"On my way."

 

 

  ------------------------------

Jean-Luc disliked Haymore intensely by the time they reached the transporter room. Everything about the man annoyed him -- not just the idea that he'd gone out of his way to make Deanna miserable at some point, but his personality and mannerisms grated. That he insisted upon asking intrusive questions didn't help. The usual silencing glares weren't much use, either. Jean-Luc wished now that he hadn't acquiesced to the man's request to join the away team. But Deanna had said not to bear a grudge for past sins, and under normal circumstances he would have granted the officer's wish -- it had originally been the *Valiant*'s mission, after all. Diplomacy wasn't just for first contact situations.

"You have any openings coming up any time soon for a lieutenant-commander with tactical experience?" Haymore asked as they entered the transporter room. Deanna was waiting for them; she raised an eyebrow and looked pleasantly composed to a fault. The familiar rippling sensation of her unvoiced laughter somehow eased his ire rather than exacerbating it as outright laughter might have.

"I don't believe so. Chief, you have the coordinates?"

"Aye, sir."

The door opened again, and deLio and one other security officer came in -- Lana'hai, the six-tentacled Sulamid, five feet tall and the color of cream being stirred into coffee. The vocoder that doubled as a communicator, mounted on the juncture between his bulbous head and his short body, was the only concession to Starfleet uniform possible. He walked on four thick tentacles and used the thinner frontal ones as arms.

Jean-Luc almost questioned the choice but refrained. Another tickle of silent laughter from Deanna, probably at his reaction -- the Sulamid seemed fascinated by her and frequently sought her company. To what end, Jean-Luc didn't want to speculate. Of course, nowadays, he always speculated on the motives of males of any species when they paid attention to her. Haymore included. And again, the annoying man was staring at her.

"The governor is waiting for us," Jean-Luc exclaimed, barely able to keep from snapping it out and giving away his irritation. Another silent ripple of amusement from Deanna at that.

They beamed down into the given coordinates, which put them outside the home of the governor, a utilitarian blocky building with a lawn and flower garden in front. The door opened and a smiling man emerged, dark-haired and dark-eyed as most Betazoids Jean-Luc had ever met and in simple grey work clothes -- he looked more like a farmer than a colonial governor.

"Captain Picard -- a pleasure to make your acquaintance in person at last."

"This is Lieutenant-Commander Haymore, second officer of the *Valiant,* and Commander Troi, my ship's counselor. . . ." He trailed off as the governor's entire attention shifted to Deanna. Unpleasant suspicions formed at the sight of the man's obvious glee, but Deanna's unchanged demeanor was reassuring.

"You're Lwaxana's daughter! My apologies, if I had known I would be greeting a daughter of the Fifth House -- " He looked down at himself self-consciously and seemed flustered.

"Please, Governor, I'm a Starfleet officer -- I'm not here in any other capacity."

Deanna's reassurance steadied him somewhat. His dark eyes flicked back to Jean-Luc. "My apologies, Captain. I'm Habar Anarra -- "

"Of the Second House," Deanna finished for him. "I remember you from the Festival of Alipha eight years ago."

Habar laughed. "Yes, of course. Come inside, please, we have much to discuss."

Jean-Luc felt very much along for the ride for the following ten minutes or so, as Habar chatted with Deanna all the way inside. They settled around a table on a patio in an open courtyard, surrounded by trees covered with huge orange blossoms. The sharp smell of them made him sneeze.

Habar left them there to fetch something for them to drink. Haymore smiled lazily across the round metal table at Deanna. "So you're royalty, huh? Makes sense."

Again, Jean-Luc didn't get the chance to react before she headed him off. "There is no royalty on Betazed. The Houses are very old, very well-respected families, nothing more."

"That's why your friend started bowing and scraping -- "

Jean-Luc found his tongue at last. "Mr. Haymore, are you or are you not on duty? Because if you are not, perhaps you should return to the ship." He'd pitched it perfectly, amazed at how casual yet formal he'd managed to sound.

Haymore stared at him. His narrow jaw slid left, then back, locking into place. "Sorry, sir."

Deanna's expression didn't change. Under the table, Jean-Luc flattened his hand against his thigh, rubbing to relieve the slight pain where his nails had bitten his palm.

When Habar returned with drinks, he became all business, all the chatter about Betazoid Houses and families finally set aside. "I was sorry to hear about the *Valiant* but it doesn't surprise me that it was attacked -- these people, whoever they are, are extremely unpredictable. I think they have another base somewhere close as well as the one on Galisi."

"Have you had any difficulties with the Romulans?" Jean-Luc asked.

Habar shook his head. He placed a tall glass of pale green liquid in front of each of them, even Lana'hai, then hesitated. "I'm not sure I should give you this -- your physiology is different."

"I have had this beverage before," Lana'hai replied through the vocoder, which he'd set to a carefully-modulated, pleasant tenor.

"Lana'hai has expressed a great interest in Betazoid culture," Deanna said. "He finds our music interesting."

"Perhaps he would enjoy -- oh, but I should invite all of you to the concert tonight. Some of the colonists are also wonderful musicians."

"We would prefer to solve your problem as quickly as possible, before there is more fighting," Jean-Luc said. "We suspect these people may have connections with the Romulan Empire."

"The thought had occurred to me as well. But some of us got a good look at a few of them. They're a mixed bunch -- Bajoran, human, Rigellian, and one Andorian."

"Former Maquis, possibly," Haymore said.

They talked in circles for a while, Habar running through the same ideas the officers had, offering little in the way of helpful information -- the settlers had only the phasers they asked for, and their sensors were specific to the tasks of geological and agricultural use. The satellite net that had been in place around the planet had been the first thing destroyed when the Maquis ships arrived. The settlers' vessels were all passenger or cargo ships, not armed. With the starships patrolling between their world and the Neutral Zone in force, they hadn't counted on needing a lot of armament, at least not right away.

"We have plans to work on a planetary defense system -- we know that Starfleet's increased vigilance will continue, but things will change one day, either turn to war or peace, and either way starships will not always cruise within a day's journey," Habar said. "But it's all we can do to concentrate on farming at present."

"How do you think the colonists would feel about evacuating the planet? I sincerely hope it does not come to that, but if this proves to be something masterminded by the Romulans, it may become necessary to do so to avoid loss of life."

"Captain, we're trying to make a home here. Not all of us would go quietly. I'd like to avoid evacuation if at all possible -- if there's anything we could do to help, we'd gladly take up arms and do it. We aren't the weaklings we're stereotyped to be."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. I've come to appreciate the fact that Betazoids are quite capable, and stronger in some respects than many humans I've known."

Habar smiled at Deanna, probably guessing his remark was meant to refer to her, and shifted his dark eyes back to Jean-Luc. "I wish there were more I could tell you, but we've been in a blind panic here. I hope this can be resolved swiftly -- if there is anything we can do -- "

"Thank you for the offer. I will contact you as soon as we find out more, Governor Anarra. My security officers would like to study the sites where the Maquis caused damage, and any other evidence of their actions you would be able to provide."

Habar went inside to call someone, and returned with more beverages. Jean-Luc sipped the green drink -- something like menthol with a dram of vodka, if he went by the flavor -- and tried not to wince. Habar returned to plying Deanna with questions about Betazed. Shortly another man arrived, to be introduced as Tobin Anarra, Habar's brother. Tobin escorted deLio and Lana'hai from the house.

Jean-Luc rose and began the process of making a polite exit. Habar's concern over the Maquis evaporated, to be replaced by enthusiastic encouragement. "Surely it wouldn't be such a great interruption to join us for a few hours, Captain. Even Starfleet officers have to relax once in a while. You have a whole ship full of officers who can be at the ready for whatever happens, and the Maquis have obviously gone back to their base to lick their wounds for a while. Allow me to be a good host and repay you in part for coming to our aid this way. The concert has been in the planning all year long, the musicians have rehearsed tirelessly -- I know you can't have been to a Betazoid performance before, or you'd certainly agree to come."

"I would love to come, Governor, believe me, but we have a -- "

"Deanna, certainly you could convince your hajira to attend with you," Habar exclaimed, turning to her.

"I'll discuss it with him. Thank you, Habar -- if you will excuse us, we really should return to the ship. By now preliminary scans have been made and we should know more about the base on the other side of the planet." Deanna didn't look at Jean-Luc but he felt a pressure guiding him toward the door.

As they left the front door of the house behind and walked down the path to the dirt road that ran between the rows of boxy grey houses, Haymore asked the question Jean-Luc was saving. "What's a hajira?"

"It's untranslatable."

"Obviously, or the translators would have translated it."

"Counselor, do you have anything to note about Habar's comments?" The question cut Haymore off. Jean-Luc ignored the man's frustrated glare.

"His concern about the Maquis is genuine, but our presence here has given him a great deal of relief. He's confident that we'll handle the problem without difficulty. And his invitation was his way of expressing his gratitude for our intervention. Concerts are special occasions, a joyful expression of the sense of community and togetherness -- that he's inviting non-Betazoids surprises me a little. It's not often that we allow outsiders. There are toned-down, more ritualized versions performed on Betazed for tourists, but the reality is quite. . . different."

"Sounds like a lot of fun," Haymore said laconically.

Deanna stared at the other officer. Jean-Luc silently rooted for her to pin his ears back, even though he'd have to intervene, but she simply put her hands behind her back and looked at her captain again, waiting for further question or orders. He glanced at the house, around them at the other houses and people standing in front of them staring curiously, and tapped his comm badge.

"*Enterprise,* three to beam up."

Haymore made a nuisance of himself as far as deck eight, where Deanna and Jean-Luc left the lift -- Jean-Luc caught a glance of the other man's startled expression. He'd expected them to go straight to the bridge.

They walked at a brisk pace that said they had definite destination until the lift closed and moved on. Deanna slowed, losing a little of her composure, glancing up and down the deserted corridor. "I'm sorry about what Habar said -- it caught me off guard."

"I wouldn't have guessed it. You deflected it easily enough -- am I right in assuming whatever that term was referred to me?"

"Can we afford an extended conversation, or should you go to the bridge?"

He took her arm and led her into his quarters. Once the door closed behind them he took her hand and covered it with his other hand into the bargain. She was showing the sort of pensive mood that could turn into something less pensive in a heartbeat.

"Short version."

"Have you been experiencing anything unusual, any traces of emotional or physical sensation you didn't think you should feel?"

"Twice. This morning, in the meeting when Haymore came in. Two weeks ago, when I was sitting in my ready room -- what does it mean? It has something to do with this?"

She placed her hands on his chest carefully, carefully, looking at his shoulder instead of meeting his gaze. "I didn't recognize it. The textbook descriptions are for telepaths. I know there are other Betazoid empaths out there, but there are so few of us that generalizations don't exist and no one's made a science out of studying them. The term hajira is taken from a very old love poem, to describe a phenomenon that can occur between two people. Literally rendered, it means fire dancer."

"And this is something another Betazoid can detect? A sort of bond?"

"Not a bond in the Vulcan sense, which is probably what you're thinking of. Even with telepaths, it's an emotional connection that forms of its own volition, without much real definition. It's just different with us -- it would be. You're not Betazoid, and I'm not quite Betazoid enough. Habar recognized it in a completely non-invasive way. You could think of it as a label, kind of an identification tag that Betazoids see when they look at us." She studied his face, sliding her hands up and down the front of his uniform slowly as if to reassure.

"Is this the mechanism that allows you to do what you did last night?"

"It must be. That's why the term means what it does. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would happen."

Jean-Luc smiled, shaking his head incredulously, and put his palm to her cheek. "Don't apologize, chère. If people's reactions to it bother me, it's a small price to pay for having you here with me. I can't deny that I dislike their amusement at our expense, but I do love you."

Her smile was worth any amount of discomfort he might face. "It doesn't bother you being so. . . in touch with me, or that people will know?"

"I'd have to be dumb as ditchwater to let it bother me, considering the advantages."

"Ditchwater." It amused her, but her face fell into sadness.

"What is it?"

"It's only that I'm reminded too easily how I don't really fit anywhere, especially the past two days, with Caleb around and meeting Habar. You and my other friends on board seem so much like home to me, until something you say confounds me and it reminds me that I'm not really human. And then Habar greeted me as a daughter of the Fifth House, and invited us to the concert -- it reminded me that I don't really belong on Betazed, either. Neither fish nor fowl, as one of my old instructors used to say. I'm not as conflicted as a human/Klingon or a human/Vulcan would be, but I don't quite fit into anyone's mold."

"You don't have to fit into a mold. You're delightful just as you are."

It didn't ease the sadness. "You should go to the bridge. I should check with Davidson and see that I'm not missing appointments."

"Do you want to go to the concert? Would you like me to go with you?"

Her eyes opened wide, the sadness replaced by surprise and love. "You would do that? Even though you can probably guess what it's going to be like? Jean -- thank you, but I couldn't. I'm not comfortable at those things, and you would be less so. But I appreciate so much that you offered."

"What is a Betazoid concert like? I can't imagine what might embarrass you."

She laughed, running a hand up his arm. "It wouldn't. It's hard to explain -- I'd feel like the odd one out, because it's a telepath thing. And I'd much rather have that date you promised me."

"Then that's what you'll get. Anything else you want to report about the conversation we had with Habar?"

"Nothing official. Haymore regards me with a great deal of skepticism, and he's questioning your judgement because you trust me."

"Not to mention he's annoying the hell out of me with all his questions and inane chatter."

Deanna brushed his uniform unnecessarily, reminding him very much of a wife about to send her husband off to work. "He's what Beverly and I would rate a quarter Riker."

"A *what*?"

"We rate the command wannabes on the Riker scale. Half a Riker is pretty ambitious but somewhat lacking in tact and guts. A quarter Riker is someone who doesn't have the guts, marginal tact, and not so much ambition." She took his arm and pushed him toward the door.

"What am I?"

She snorted in amusement and gave him a final shove. "You're the yardstick we use to measure Will. I figure he's about half a Picard."

While on his way to the bridge, he wondered if the crew were used to seeing him in the corridors with a goofy grin on his face yet. She seemed to enjoy doing that to him just as he left.

He composed himself by the time he arrived, however, and emerged from the lift to find Haymore and Data standing outside the door to the ready room, obviously waiting for him. He didn't care for Haymore's diffident expression as he approached. It appeared to be a cover for what he was really feeling.

"Report, Mr. Data." Since they were there, he pushed past and went in the ready room, leaving Data to follow him.

"Preliminary scans show an abandoned encampment on the southern continent. They were obviously very quick to evacuate. I have sent security teams down to investigate." Data stood at attention in front of the desk.

"How did I guess?" Jean-Luc sat down and sighed, glancing at his console. He'd left the thing on last night, to the reports on Galisi. "Any traces of them anywhere else in the system?"

"There are indications that cloaked vessels have been operated heavily in this region of space. The cloaking devices being used appear to be inferior copies of the ones used by the Romulans. We have scanned the other four planets in the system, as well as their moons, and will continue to do so, but it would seem the Maquis have made a. . . clean getaway."

"So it appears." Jean-Luc touched the console and brought up information on the sector. "Data, does Haymore annoy you?"

"In fact, he does, sir."

"Really." Jean-Luc looked up from what he was doing at the android's impassive face. "He isn't disrespectful because you're an android, is he?" They still ran into that problem every so often.

"Mr. Haymore asks me questions that I find obtrusive and. . . inappropriate. Perhaps because I am an android -- he may believe I will answer as a computer might. I have encountered that expectation before."

"What sort of questions?"

Data frowned. "He asked me whether Deanna. . . slept her way to promotion. I did not see how sleeping would -- "

"Damn!"

"Sir?"

"Reference the euphemism 'sleeping together' and see if that makes better sense to you."

Data's head came up almost at once, enlightenment in his eyes. "Ah, I see. He believes she received her promotion because -- but that is an erroneous assumption. You would not do such a thing. And she received her promotion long before."

"You know that, but humans make incorrect assumptions all the time. It wouldn't be an unusual assumption to make, in some cases. He's probably heard the rumors, and I haven't helped matters either." Jean-Luc steepled his fingers and rubbed his jaw with his thumbs thoughtfully.

"Sir?" Data came a few steps closer, hesitated, then sat down. "If I may -- I am prepared to testify, if necessary, that your relationship with Counselor Troi has not adversely affected your professional interactions with her. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"The opposite? Specify."

"In the years we have served together, the counselor has been a valuable member of our bridge crew, and you have always made it clear that you respected her abilities as a counselor. But it was not until your personal relationship began to develop that you took such an interest in her advancement. It has been pointed out to me in conversation with other officers that this is an unlikely direction for you to take -- normally, in such a case, one of you would either seek reassignment or resign. That you are in fact treating her more like an officer than before and encouraging her to further her career would indicate that you are not intending to ask her to compromise. You are, as Mr. Carlisle put it, creating a third option."

"I'm still not clear on how you believe this actually improves my professional relationship with the counselor."

Data smiled in sincere respect and affection. "Sir, it means you have begun to see a side of her that you did not appear to acknowledge before. She is an excellent counselor, but you encouraged her in a new direction and she has shown some promise. Although she exhibits insecurity about her performance as an officer of the watch when complications arise, she is capable of surmounting it. You respect her career to the degree that you will not allow yourself to stand in her way. You sent her on the away mission on Zibyan without hesitation, and you did not react unprofessionally when she was found to be missing. I believe that you will continue to treat her as an officer in the future as well, and that you will be all the more careful to avoid the pitfalls of fraternization because of it. I believe this should be brought to Starfleet's attention, before rumors turn to conjecture."

Jean-Luc knew he was beaming at Data, but didn't care. The android had come so far over the years, and this was proof of it. "Is it my imagination, or are you actually making serious progress into understanding the complexities of human interaction? When did you become so wise? And why wasn't I paying attention?"

"You were. . . preoccupied, I think," Data said, slyness creeping into the smile. "The counselor's tutelage has been most helpful, and the data I have been accumulating since I have begun working with her is making more sense, especially with her clarifications. And I also have you to thank, sir. You have been patient with my occasional mistakes and inappropriate comments."

"Not as patient as I probably should have been. Thank you, Data, for your suggestion. A direct approach would be to my advantage. And. . . about Mr. Haymore. If he continues to ask inappropriate questions, you should tell him politely that it offends you and that you would prefer he not ask you those questions. If he persists, direct him to me. I don't know why he thinks he can get away with such behavior aboard my ship, but while he's on duty, he will behave appropriately, or he can sit this mission out in his quarters. I don't want to stir up bad blood between the two crews, but I won't tolerate his disrespecting my officers."

Data sobered and showed no signs of moving, as Jean-Luc thought he might. "Captain, you are aware that he seems to believe Deanna is not an able officer, and that he takes exception to seeing her included on this mission?"

"He's being possessive about the mission. Do you understand why?"

Data cocked his head to one side and considered. "Because. . . he is the second officer, and he is attempting to distinguish himself, to take advantage of the absence of his first officer and captain."

"Data, did you just figure that out yourself?"

"I was a second officer until last year, sir."

Jean-Luc hoped he was accomplishing the shit-eating grin as well as Data usually did. "But you did not have an emotion chip. How would you have known what it feels like?"

"Sir, I realize that you have attempted to attribute emotions to my behavior and motivations many times during the time we have served together, but -- "

"Just remember what we've discussed, Data. Let me know what the security teams discover. And. . . thank you, for your support. It's very much appreciated."

Data stood, smiling again. "I believe the expression is, 'I owed you one,' sir. Although I believe I owe you considerably more than one. And I still believe you are well-suited to one another." He left the room.

Jean-Luc sniffed, shaking his head in amazement, and turned his attention to the screen.

\---------------

Beverly jogged Deanna's elbow as they headed for the lift on deck four. "So where's he taking you?"

"I don't know, but I'm sensing some incredible smugness. He's up to something." Deanna had been enduring Beverly's curiosity since the doctor had showed up at her office door shortly before the end of alpha shift. It was getting easier to talk casually about things she'd previously kept from her friend out of protectiveness.

"And I suppose I'll never get to find out what." Beverly sighed, adopting a woebegone expression. "Oh, well."

They entered the lift; to Deanna's chagrin, Haymore and four others were in it. Beverly smiled thinly at Caleb and shot Deanna a glance. Deanna sensed the dislike her friend had for the man and wanted to give the computer anything but deck eight.

"Going to see the captain?" Caleb said.

Deanna feigned cheerfulness, and somehow made it sound convincing -- to her surprise and grim pleasure. "No, my quarters."

Caleb smirked. Without Jean-Luc there, he reverted to his usual snide self. He'd always known when to behave and when he could get away with things, always rode the thin line between pretense of innocence and intentional rudeness. She corrected her assessment -- he was about a sixteenth of a Riker, if that. She'd given him the benefit of the doubt but he was proving that some people could refuse to mature and still advance, albeit slowly.

The other four crew were *Enterprise* staff, and looked askance at Caleb. Beverly watched Deanna out of the corner of her eye.

"Change any light bulbs lately?" Caleb asked.

Deanna's heart seized, and she hated that the reaction had been so immediate. His question confused everyone in the lift. Luckily, before she could unfreeze, the doors opened on deck eight and she followed Beverly from the lift almost automatically.

Unluckily, Caleb followed her out.

"Say, want to grab a bite to eat, Deedee?"

Shoulders stiff, Deanna halted but didn't turn to face him. "Leave me alone."

"Come on, we can reminisce about old times. Let bygones be bygones."

"If anything you say were truly indicative of your motives, I might agree to do that," she said acerbically. "Since it isn't, and you're only intending to continue a trend of carrying a grudge, leave me alone."

She started walking again. Beverly radiated curiosity and sympathy but said nothing.

"I could have predicted you'd end up this way. Making up for the deficiencies the best you can, any way you can. Sleeping your way to the top."

As she kept her feet moving at a casual speed, fury built up in her belly, hardening her heart in her chest -- she hadn't felt this kind of rage since the last time she'd argued with Worf.

A single stab of something else pierced the rage. A kind of emotional shout, that broke through even though her anger overwhelmed her empathy as strong emotions had a tendency to do. It brought her to attention and dissipated the anger. Jean-Luc had done it. And now that her emotions had cleared, she could sense him, close -- behind her.

Behind Caleb too, evidently, because he kept talking in the seconds it took for her to experience her brief rage. "I'm curious, DeeDee -- if you'll sleep with an old man for a promotion, how come you wouldn't have anything to do with me?"

Caleb was furious for some reason, and as she pivoted on her heel she saw Jean-Luc had indeed come up behind Caleb. Jean had gone completely cold -- the way he always did when he rose into a towering fury. This was Captain Picard at his most dangerous. Beyond anger, knowing that the situation would require it, he set himself to the task of dealing with someone he wanted to pummel senseless but had to cope with rationally. It helped that he'd just come down from the bridge. He obeyed the strictures placed upon him while in uniform.

Deanna kept her eyes on Caleb, hoping Beverly wouldn't give away the game. Jean-Luc wasn't wavering. He knew something she didn't, and though it wasn't obvious to her how yet, he expected her to begin the process of dealing with Caleb.

Caleb smirked -- some things never changed. "I thought that might get your attention."

"Dee," Beverly murmured, but Deanna held up a hand.

"Computer," she said, the corner of her mouth rising, "how long have I been aboard the *Enterprise?*"

"Fifteen years, four months -- "

"Computer, how long have I held the rank of commander?"

"Seven years, three months, two -- "

"That's sufficient. So Mr. Haymore, why do you suppose I'm still aboard this vessel, and still an officer? Are you saying Internal Affairs is falling down on the job?"

Shock spiked in Caleb and evaporated his smug expression in a flash. He recovered rapidly. "Oh, all right -- so maybe that isn't how you got the promotion, but there are enough rumors floating around this ship -- "

"Do you really believe everything you hear?"

"I believe my eyes and ears. There's something going on between you and your friend the captain -- he's terribly defensive of poor little you, for some reason."

Deanna took two steps that brought her within arm's length. "Maybe if you were more ambitious, or applied yourself more to your work, you'd advance too. That's why you're so furious and groping for reasons for my being promoted over you, isn't it? Can't stand the weak-kneed little weepy girl who made you fail your survival test actually making something of herself? Does it damage your self-image so badly that you have to resort to petty insults?"

"Those of us who follow the rules don't care to watch those of you who break them getting away with it," he exclaimed, his expression turning to stone and his watery eyes glinting.

"Would you like Admiral H'nayison's personal comm code?" Jean-Luc asked calmly.

Deanna felt some of the shock herself, but the lion's share of it came from Caleb -- his freckles stood out against his white skin like paint flecks. He turned slowly. After a moment of imitating a statue of an officer, he drew himself up for a confrontation. Deanna sensed resolve. He intended to have it out with Captain Picard.

Her heart did a rapid downward spiral into her stomach -- but still, Jean-Luc wasn't wavering. He knew something. Had he really figured out a way around this?

"Yes, sir, actually I would appreciate that. I'd like to talk to the Admiral." Caleb thought he was bluffing. Deanna knew differently.

"I hope you have all your evidence prepared. He'll want that, you know. You *are* aware of regulations regarding such matters, aren't you, Mr. Haymore?"

"Regs prohibit fraternization that interferes with the command structure of -- "

"Define interference within this context."

Deanna saw the corner of Caleb's jaw move as he clenched his teeth. The resolve in him increased significantly, along with anxiety. He hadn't expected this from the captain.

"Interference would mean favoritism, any dereliction of duty on the part of either party, any unreported misconduct. . . ."

Jean had crossed his arms and then begun rubbing his chin with his thumb, in that way he had whenever he was up to something and enjoying it thoroughly, yet not wanting to appear that he was. And he was enjoying this. Caleb scrambled for more, and failed, confused at being confronted when he had intended to confront.

"That's essentially what H'nayison said. When he's done reviewing the mission logs, the statements from my officers and myself, and spoken to Admiral Nechayev about it, I'm certain he'll let us know what he decides. Now, Mr. Haymore, I have something else I'd like to discuss, while I have you here."

Jean-Luc walked around the man slowly, forcing him to turn to watch him. Whatever Jean was doing, he was sure he'd come out on top -- that he'd talked to the JAG startled her. But, she reflected, perhaps it shouldn't have been so unexpected, considering the way he'd behaved from the start.

He pointed a finger at Caleb in another of his habitual gestures -- the 'engage finger,' the bridge officers called it. "It's come to my attention that you have been annoying my senior officers. My first officer in particular has been displeased -- he finds it quite annoying when people assume he's just another computer terminal and start asking impolite questions. I do not approve of divisive behavior, especially from ranked officers. Given that you have already implied disrespect for me, questioned my judgement, and now you have managed to bring most of my officers to my ready room door with complaints, I'm afraid you've given me no other choice but to remove you from this mission."

Deanna felt the spinning despair and anxiety from Caleb, and sighed. The curse of the empath. "Captain."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Counselor?"

"You're overlooking something. Mr. Haymore has only been aboard for one day. No one can be expected to adjust in such a short period of time. May I also point out, sir, that the added stress of the battle and -- "

"The short version, please, Counselor? I haven't got all night."

She did smile at that. "You've given second chances before, sir."

He chewed his fingernail and appeared thoughtful, though she knew he was really working his way through frustration. He'd really wanted to get Haymore off the mission.

Throughout the confrontation, Beverly had gone through a gamut of emotions, from surprise to sheer enjoyment, but now she stepped forward, composed and calm. "Mr. Haymore isn't usually this. . . difficult, Captain. He does have a unique personality, but he's a good officer. I think in this case he became angry at a perceived injustice and overreacted. Can you really fault him for taking a stand against broken regs?"

Jean straightened his uniform and put his hands behind his back. "Do you think I should give you a second chance, Mr. Haymore?"

Caleb's jaw worked. "Yes, sir. But -- I don't understand. You're implying that an exception -- "

"Exceptions are made, Commander. That you haven't heard of any is no fault of mine. If you had done a little more research, or perhaps confronted me outright rather than bothering my officers, you wouldn't have risked being knocked flat by my counselor. I suppose you have no way of knowing she's taken martial arts lessons for most of her time aboard the *Enterprise.*"

"Captain," Deanna chided. "I'm hurt that you would believe that I would strike a fellow officer."

His hazel eyes laughed at her. "Then I must have misread the expression on your face. My apologies, Counselor. But you did look rather like you did in the last tournament, when you threw deLio."

Caleb mustered his wits and said, "You're right, Captain, I should have approached you first. Please accept my apology."

Jean-Luc's expression cooled as he looked at Caleb. "You also owe a number of other people apologies, and I believe you know which ones. I will expect you on the bridge first thing in the morning."

Caleb looked at Deanna. His emotions had shifted to begrudging acceptance of his situation. Still, he didn't feel very repentant; he was still angry. "I'm sorry, DeeDee."

"I'll forgive you if you quit calling me that. I know it sounded euphonious back at the Academy, but I'm not hanging out with Zizi and Bibi any more."

"Okay, sorry about that. Deanna." He held out a hand. She was tempted to flip him, just to see him flat on his back on the floor with her foot on his throat, but shook his hand and watched him march down to the lift.

Jean-Luc eyed her warily. "Should we find you something to punch around, so you can get it out of your system?"

"No," she exclaimed forcefully.

"My God, Dee, is that you? I thought you were about to kill him." Beverly tried not to grin. "I take it you know our Mr. Haymore?"

"Once upon a nightmare." She bit her lip, turning her thoughts from Caleb to what Jean-Luc had said. "Did you really talk to -- "

"Not here," he said.

"I think I'll just say good night and be off to tuck in my roommates," Beverly said. "Or persuade them to play poker. I should be able to clean out a bunch of fresh-faced twenty-somethings." She hurried off the other direction down the corridor, leaving Deanna standing alone with him.

He followed her into his quarters. She sat on the sofa and looked up at him, while he keyed the lock and stood over her a moment. "I've been busy today," he said, his quiet smile reassuring her. "Between trying to find the Maquis and talking to admirals and officers, it's been quite an afternoon."

"What's happening?"

He sat at an angle on the edge of the sofa. "Well, let's see. Data demonstrated quite a bit of progress -- you've done wonders in helping him along. He suggested that I be proactive and contact Command before they come to me, and demonstrate to them at the outset that we're functioning as officers in spite of our personal relationship."

Deanna raised both brows. "Data suggested it?"

"This may be a useless question to ask you, but if you look at our actions over the last three months, would you as a counselor see anything that suggests interference with our jobs?"

She took a moment to think it through, and shook her head. "I don't think there's been anything. Both of us have been very careful. But there is the affect it has on the crew. Caleb reacted badly to it."

"Have you noticed any of our crew suffering similar symptoms?"

"No. Just amusement, mostly, and some questioning from the newer crew. But that could change. It's only been rumor -- as we've noted, we've been careful. No overt displays of affection in public, no being seen together constantly. They can still pretend they don't know it's happening."

He'd settled into a grim satisfaction, and felt a determination she'd sensed in him before, many times. "H'nayison was surprised to hear from me. The rumor hadn't gotten to him yet. I had Data in to discuss it with us, to provide more solid proof that I'm not taking this lightly or expecting favors. I want them to let us try. I held up our service records, provided logs, and agreed to sit down with whomever they might send to investigate."

Deanna put her hand to her mouth. It was easier before -- choosing to share his denial and ignore rumors had allowed her to not think of consequences.

"Nechayev wasn't happy. I expected it. She made veiled threats, but it let me know where they stand -- they're hoping to salvage the situation. Do you realize, I'm the oldest captain in the fleet as it stands? They want to keep me, for a variety of reasons."

"What do you think?"

He sniffed. "I think that we have wasted enough time with this. The holodeck is waiting."

"But what's going to happen?"

"I don't know, Deanna. But I'm tired of thinking about it. We have a mission I'm tired of thinking about, too. And we have other things to discuss."

\---------------

Deanna still looked as though she'd been blindsided by a dreadnought; the idea that he'd actually talked to H'nayison had flattened her. It impressed him that she'd set it aside long enough to keep up the self-assured appearance in front of Haymore. This should have been a pleasant evening of relaxation, the sort of evening he should have been having with her more often. The confrontation in the corridor had derailed everything. If she couldn't put it out of her mind, neither one of them would enjoy the rest of the evening.

"You're out of uniform, Deanna."

She blinked and looked down at her uniform, and smiled. "What sort of uniform is required?"

"Something comfortable enough to walk in. And get that thing out of your hair."

"You're not properly dressed, either, then."

He followed her into the bedroom and changed, doing his best to ignore her as she did the same. They crossed paths in front of the closet, where he put on soft-soled shoes. She eyed the small accumulation of her shoes -- most of them were still in her quarters. He noted she'd chosen a loose beige dress that reminded him of laughing peasants stomping grapes with sun on their shoulders. Not what he was accustomed to seeing her wearing, certainly not something he'd expect on a Betazoid.

"Barefoot will be fine," he said.

She eyed him suspiciously. "You've been smug all day. Although I suppose that could have been -- "

"No. It's too soon to be smug about that. Although H'nayison will likely rule in our favor, there are other factors involved. Stop it, and enjoy the now."

"I don't want just the now." The whisper sounded like it hurt coming out.

He gathered her close, in an armful of warmth and muslin, her muscles tense under the sliding roughness of the thin material. "I know, chère. Neither do I. That's why I'm trying."

"It would have been easier if I had resigned," she mumbled against his shirt.

"Easier, but less desirable. You want your career. I will do everything in my power to see that you keep it. Where did you come up with this dress?"

He guided her toward the door. She walked close, arms around his waist loosely until they left his quarters and she put that requisite distance between them. "It's like the one I wore the first night you approached me, when we rode around with the elephants in the lift."

"Oh, yes. I liked that dress."

"That's why I chose another like it. Why is this style so appealing to you?"

Since it was such an innocuous topic, he went on at length about historical France and modes of dress, rather than the real reason, which was merely that she made an absolutely delicious peasant, with her hair down and the blousy material concealing her slender body. She always wore an amused, tolerant expression when he ran on about history of any sort; this time was no exception. They passed a few scattered groups of mixed Enterprise and Valiant crew, getting some interested glances and whispers as they went along at a leisurely pace. He had learned early on that reacting to them in any way only inflamed whatever gossip would be circulating as a result, so he ignored them

They were within sight of holodeck three when two opened. Natalia Greenman, still in uniform, emerged; patches of sweat under her arms and disheveled hair gave her the appearance of someone who'd just come off a tough sim, and her brown eyes were determined but held a note of defeat.

"Sir," she exclaimed, coming to a dead stop in front of them. "Good evening."

"Ensign."

She didn't move out of the way. "I was wondering. . . ."

Jean-Luc almost glanced at Deanna, but that would have given away too much. Deanna would lecture him on confidentiality if he let slip that they had discussed Natalia's case in any way. "Would you excuse us, please?"

"Sir, please." Natalia stepped closer. "Please. My father. . . Bennett Greenman. He was a security officer on the Lexington, the one that was destroyed at Wolf. . . . I was wondering if you knew. . . ."

Rather than react to bristling irritation at this, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The girl's wide, earnest eyes reminded him too poignantly of Meribor, begging his indulgence. "You want to know what, Ensign?"

He had to ignore Deanna's surprised stare assiduously. Natalia's relief pained him; she'd fully expected a rebuff, but she'd approached him anyway. "If you knew what became of him. If you could tell me, did he die, or was he. . . ."

"At the point in the battle at which the Lexington was destroyed, the Borg were no longer sending out drones to assimilate anyone. I believe your father was one of those who died. Which you should count as a great relief, Natalia. I know that it does nothing to alleviate the pain of his absence, but at least he didn't suffer the indignity of losing himself to the Collective."

Her reaction was mixed, to say the least. "I guess I hoped there might still be a chance. . . I mean, you were. . . ."

"I'm sorry, Ensign. But even if he were assimilated by that cube, it was destroyed not long after that."

It was amazing, how people could cling to hope so long in the face of the obvious -- but then again he'd not paid much attention to what information about Wolf 359 had been made public, and what hadn't. Deanna gripped his arm briefly, then went forward to comfort the girl.

At least she didn't cry long. She pulled away from Deanna, wiped her sleeve across her cheeks, and straightened her shoulders. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your honesty."

Jean-Luc smiled, but only just. "Now get back in that holodeck and do something other than battle sims -- something more relaxing, and less like work."

Natalia grinned and jogged back into holodeck two.

Deanna's expression was painful to look at. "I'm so proud of you. You're such a good father -- "

"Bloody hell. Keep your patients out of my face, Counselor," he growled.

"Oh, and I did so much to force you to talk to her that way." Her amusement softened to affection. "Who did she remind you of?"

He took her elbow and headed for holodeck three. It wasn't far, now. Hopefully, no one would fall out of the ceiling to distract them -- though the way his luck was running, there'd be someone crawling around in a Jeffries tube about to do just that.

"She really looks up to you, Jean. You've just made my job a little harder."

"I have? How so? I tried not to be the ogre you claim I can be."

"Now she's going to distract herself from working through other issues by focusing on trying to impress you."

He stopped with his fingers on the control panel. She wasn't really upset, judging from her expression, just acknowledging the situation for what it was. "You know, I think I've not understood just how difficult your job must be. It never would have occurred to me that your job changes every time someone changes their mind."

"Everyone is in a constant state of flux, even Data."

"So it follows that you would be just as good at -- " He fixed his eyes on the list of programs in front of him, hating what he'd just let himself do. Drawing comparisons between counseling and battle strategy would only destroy the peace.

"Go ahead and say it. You might as well."

"No. I don't want to talk about that, and I don't want you to construe it as me being pushy. It was only an observation from someone who has too many battles on his mind at the moment. If we could just get away from all these interruptions. . . ."

He made the selection and the door opened, and they walked through into the fantasy world he'd created for her. She hesitated as the door disappeared behind them. As he'd predicted, the scenery took her mind off everything else.

"Jean -- where is this?" she gasped.

"It's our world. Where the bird and the fish who fell in love will live."

She stared at the moons, pale pinkish and high in the blue sky, then at the pale sand and waves rolling in from the deep blue Mediterranean. "This isn't Betazed, but those are the moons."

"This beach is actually in France. Now that I'm no longer in denial about the situation, I realized that the biggest thing we really have in common is Starfleet. If we took ourselves off this ship, where would we live?"

"I never thought about that. I've been thinking I would simply stay with you, wherever you go."

"Why?"

She turned to him, sober and so beautiful it made his heart ache. "I suppose because your career is so much a part of you, and counseling is something I could do anywhere."

"But it isn't that simple. You've been very careful not to let me see it, too careful really, but there's more to you than you let anyone see. Deep inside there is a part of you that wants desperately to fly, instead of simply watching others in flight and repairing their broken wings. You don't believe you can do it. Somewhere along the way you've let someone convince you that you're incapable of it. All that really stands between you and the sky is what you believe. All that really stands between us is belief." He gestured at the pale moons and the beach. "This world is real enough to walk in. We can believe it's real as long as we're here. I lived an entire lifetime on another world, as a husband and father, and it was all in my mind -- I felt it, tasted it, smelled it. If fiction can affect me in so many ways, why can't I affect reality just as drastically? Why can't we create our own world?"

Deanna held her hand to her cheek and walked down the dunes. Jean-Luc followed her, catching her other hand in his; her eyes moved around, taking in the details of the fictional place they were in. Wind sighed in off the water, rearranging her hair gently.

She stopped abruptly and stared as ten swans waddled down out of the dunes and crossed in front of them. They marched into the breakers and swam off into the waves, riding the peaks and valleys in the water with unnatural ability.

"Swans don't live in the ocean."

"People don't live in space. Fish don't fall in love with birds."

She smiled, brow wrinkling, eyes laughing at him. "Sometimes I think you're speaking in Tamarian and I'm missing most of the conversation. I keep expecting you to start telling me stories about Gilgamesh, or Darmok."

Jean-Luc laughed. "Jean and Deanna, in the treehouse."

"Oh, what a wit." She stepped into his arms, head on his shoulder and turned to watch the swans paddling around in the surf, slipping her arms in the front of the loose low-cut tan shirt he wore.

"It seemed to impress you enough."

Snorting, she wrapped her arms around his ribs. "No, actually, I was most impressed by more. . . solid aspects of you."

"You're not supposed to do that to me this early on. We haven't even eaten yet."

"I don't see any food."

"Keep walking."

Strange how satisfying it was. The simple act of walking down a beach, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist, created such a sense of peace and well-being that he almost wished he'd programmed a longer walk.

"What you're trying to tell me, essentially, is what you've been saying all along -- all that matters is what we believe matters," she said. "All that matters is what we want. If we believe hard enough we can make it happen."

"I can think about your mother and Betazed, and wince at the thought of her expectations, but in the end it's really not about her, or about my career, or yours. Neither one of us is who we were when we first reported for duty -- we aren't from Betazed, or Earth. I imagine I'll have a difficult time fitting in back in Labarre, if I move back into the chateau. If Starfleet went away tomorrow, we'd find a way. Wouldn't we?" He smiled, rubbing her arm. "We're a part of each other's reality, now. That doesn't have to go away. We can carry our reality with us."

"I'd rather live in France, with you."

"You don't think I'd fit in on Betazed? How did your father manage?"

"He went off on missions a lot."

"It sounds like a peaceful place to live."

Deanna shrugged. "It's too peaceful. You would find it boring, after the life you've led. You wouldn't even have the vineyard to keep you busy."

"I would have you."

She slowed, head bowed, thinking. "Would that really be enough?"

"How many interests do I have, that you're aware of?"

"Cheesy holonovels included? Archeology, history, exploration, music, languages -- am I missing any?" She laughed when he slid his hand down her shoulder and squeezed her breast. "Okay, sex."

"Building things. I'm not a very good carpenter, but I've been told I make a fine nursery."

Her alarmed glance surprised him. "You would do that?"

"Build a nursery? I've done it, at least in my head. Since I retained the ability to play the flute I'd assume I also retained that."

"No, I mean *need* a nursery. I didn't think you would consider children."

She stopped short of the end of the beach, where a paved path wound up through an improbable field of wildflowers. Jean-Luc kissed her hair. "Why wouldn't I? You realize that's really the only reason I agreed to this whole arrangement -- between the two of us, I'm reasonably certain the children would have *some* hair."

Her laughter sounded, and felt, freer and more joyful than he'd expected. The wash of pleasure tickled him from the inside out -- the connection between them was at its strongest when she relaxed. Was that because she tried to stifle it the rest of the time?

He led her into the field of wildflowers. The beach behind them vanished. The ten swans swam by in the grass, raising and lowering their heads in unison. Deanna stared at them. "Was this supposed to happen?"

"Well, you can tell the programmer had too many things on his mind." Jean-Luc shook his head at the flock of white birds swimming in a circle around them. "The rare meadow swan, found only in certain holodecks. We'll have to report the sighting as soon as possible."

"It'll be a media event, I'm sure."

A curve of the path took them down a hill to a grove of unnaturally-large oak trees. Deanna looked up and laughed again at the sight of a large tree house, complete with walls and roof.

"It's definitely more well-developed than the one behind the house in Labarre," she said as they reached the base of the tree. She put a foot on the bottom rung of a ladder hanging down.

They emerged in the living room of the house through the trapdoor. When he closed the door, the seams vanished. Deanna looked around, surprised. "Jean, this is the most surreal program -- this *is* your house! You put the chateau in a tree?"

"I hope it isn't too disorienting. I was sure you would appreciate the implications of it all. Dinner should be right where I left it."

They found the dining room table set, complete with candles and a tall vase of roses. "Flowers -- no chocolate?"

"Chocolate is for dessert. The flowers are real, and so is this." He pointed at the box sitting next to her plate.

She sat down and opened the box while he poured wine. "A necklace -- it's beautiful. Is it a -- " She held it up to the light of a candle, looking at the silver pendant. "It's a swan. How did they cut it so intricately?"

"Lasers, I imagine. I thought of you when I saw it. I know it's late, but happy birthday."

"You remembered my birthday?"

"I remembered it after the mess at Orphus Prime, after we recovered Carlisle and his team and settled the disagreement with the Orphus government. Without Beverly around to throw the party, and with all that was going on, I'm afraid I let it slip right by."

"Fasten it for me." She sat in his lap and held up her hair. With the necklace fastened, he put his arms around her waist and kept her. "You don't want to eat?"

"In a minute." She'd automatically turned and put an arm around his shoulders for balance, placing him in an ideal position to tug the dress out of the way and tease her nipple with his tongue.

"Jean," she moaned. He looked up at her wide eyes, pulled her head down, and kissed her, until she slid off his lap. She wanted more, but returned to her chair, rearranging her hair and looking more like a peasant girl than ever. Reaching for her fork, she began to eat.

They fell into one of their many companionable silences, when there were still things to say but a temporary unspoken agreement that it would keep. He watched her eat, and knew she watched him as well, in glances and brief meetings of their eyes. The silver swan glittered against her white skin.

"Thank you," she said at last, quietly, while raising the last bite of fish to her mouth.

"Thank you, for everything. For listening to my silences. For understanding my inattention when I should be paying attention to you." He paused, as she turned her eyes to the wine in her hand. "What is it, chère?"

"Do you remember Keiko and Miles O'Brien?"

This seemed an odd diversion from the moment, but she usually had a point to whatever she said. "Quite well. One of the more. . . interesting weddings I've performed."

"I counseled with them a few times before they left for DS9. Data got a message from Keiko last week. It seems they've separated. It doesn't sound promising."

"That's too bad, but I don't see. . . ."

"I've counseled over two hundred married couples over the last ten years. Two thirds of them have split now. I could sense their devotion to each other, to their children. Then the transfers come, the stress of moving the children, the strain of balancing her career against his -- "

"Dee," he said softly. It got her eyes out of her wine glass. "I hear how afraid you are. I understand why. I have the feeling both of us have been, in effect, shouting at each other at the top of our lungs about things neither of us want to happen. The common theme in this is neither of us wants to do anything to drive the other away. The only thing that will prove it won't happen is time. I'm doing everything I can to give us time. Trust me."

"I do. I just -- can't help thinking, about how people change -- "

"That's not something either of us can do anything about. Come on, Counselor, you know better than this."

"I checked my objectivity at the door three months ago."

"Tell me about hajira. Tell me what it means."

"Fire dancer. The poem. . . . " She thought for a few moments. "I can't get a translation close enough to the real meaning, but the lines are 'the souls of those who dance in flame, entwine and gyre through life's trickle of days, sharing pleasure, sharing pain, where once was duality there will always be one heart, which cannot be touched by frost or. . . .' You knew this, didn't you?"

Jean-Luc finished his wine and set aside the glass. "I probably made meadow swans while reading about it. 'Which cannot be touched by frost or extinguished by rain.' We reached an equilibrium in these last three months, only to have it disrupted by your old friend and his anger, and Beverly's mention of the JAG inquiry that no one ever bothered to tell me about."

"She probably thought it would make you shout."

"She was probably right. But perhaps it was time to deal with these issues again. Deanna, I'm no expert on long term -- this is the longest I've spent with anyone, in reality anyway. The longest I've spent with a fellow Starfleet officer. I want it to continue."

"So do I." She rubbed the swan pendant with her thumb.

"Then it will. So there."

She giggled and the light returned to her eyes. "That's telling me like it is. I'm sorry I keep having these little panic attacks."

"You were doing very well until Beverly showed up. By the way, she's not exactly heartbroken like you said she was. She practically kicked me through a bulkhead for trying to force you to advance so I could live on a starship in my retirement."

Deanna leaned back and did a double-take. "She thought you were trying to do that? Were you?"

"I think not. I think my motivations to that end are as a captain, not a lover -- as Data pointed out, it's counterproductive. Most men in my position would be trying to convince the woman in question to give up her career, or resign themselves to long separations. And I do still personally think you won't be happy doing either of those things."

"I've been thinking about that today -- and about why we. . . happened. It was quite sudden, the way it came about." She propped her head on her fist and smiled fondly at the memory. "You really took me by surprise."

"You didn't complain too much."

"I think we both knew on a subconscious level that the attraction existed. Well, I knew on more levels than that, but you know what I'm talking about. I think you made the decision to pursue a relationship with me when I demonstrated an aspect of myself you hadn't seen before -- resolve. Before then, I was the counselor you occasionally leered at but never considered in anything other than a professional capacity."

He chuckled at the direction she was taking. "You're going to tell me that I want you to pursue command because that's the part of you I find most appealing."

"No. You find the strength that would take appealing. You want to see if I have the strength. The goal isn't so appealing to you as the fact that I could accomplish it."

He sniffed. "You think so? But I don't want you to prove anything to me, Deanna, I already know you have what it would take."

She tilted her head and gave him a look he'd seen in many sessions with her -- a look that said she knew him too well and was tolerating his self-deception. "What would you do if I stopped cold, resigned completely, and settled in to be nothing more than your bedmate?"

It left his mouth hanging open. He tried to imagine her never at his side on away teams, never coming to staff meetings, tried to see someone else in her place, and found he didn't like the idea.

"You don't know. You wouldn't appreciate a woman who doesn't have a purpose of her own -- you don't want an arm ornament, an accessory, a trophy wife. You admire self-sufficiency and strength, and someone with a sense of dedication and purpose. Someone very like yourself, in that respect. You want an equal in temper and affection."

"But you are that."

She watched him for a long moment, her dark eyes solemn, arms crossed on the edge of the table. "I am. But I wasn't always, at least not so you noticed."

"No. . . no, I think I knew. Otherwise I wouldn't have had so much respect for you all these years." He leaned forward avidly. "But you see why I'm trying so hard to help you keep your career -- "

"I do. I appreciate the effort, more than I can tell you. It's the most self-sacrificing thing I've seen you do -- you hold your romantic relationships so close, so private, and that you called up an admiral and stated point-blank that you wanted permission to keep what we have -- but then Caleb's reaction was a good example of why they might not allow it."

Implacable, inescapable, this insecurity of hers. He gazed at her in stunned realization. She was telling him, had been telling him all along, exactly why she was afraid -- he hadn't seen it. Maybe she didn't even see it. It might be in her blind spot, hidden by her inability to be objective about her own situation. She wanted to rid herself of it -- but all she needed was --

"Deanna," he said, soft and low. It signaled the change in topic and brought her eyes to his again, melancholy fading slightly. She hoped. As long as there was that, as long as she had some faith in him --

"Deanna, it just occurred to me again what I already knew and didn't fully comprehend -- you have literally lived out the full cycle of relationship after relationship, haven't you? It isn't just your own failed relationships -- it's everyone's failed relationships. Due to the nature of your job, you see them in the beginning for premarital counseling -- you see them in love and dedicated, without blemish. Then the later relationship counseling is always about turning bad. People only come to you when things go astray. You see that even the most dedicated, loving couples have problems -- it's reinforced the impression that that's the way it always is, and the heart is stronger than the head -- you're trying to compensate but we keep returning to this one thing, this insecurity about the future."

Her turn to gape. She sat erect, stricken, frozen in disbelief and a mixture of other emotions not yet delineated. Jean-Luc kept his eyes on hers, willing her to comprehend and accept his intent.

"You say your strength is what attracted me most. Not so. It's you -- not your parts, but the sum of them, which when I saw the whole of it drew me to you. Will remarked after the simulation that you were nothing like any of the other women he's seen me with -- he was absolutely correct, and I told him without really thinking about it that you alone were very much like Eline. And you told me after the probe released me that Eline was most likely based on a real woman to give her texture, but that the probe must have taken from my mind elements I found most desirable in a woman and added them to her personality. I want to see both the strength and the softness in you, to appreciate them both -- and the humor and the passion, and even the trials in your life. I want you, not your strength or your career, except insofar as they are part of you. I think that's what I've been trying to tell you all along, just as you've tried in your way to tell me you needed to know it."

She put her face in her hands. Jean-Luc let her work through it, not wanting to distract her from reasoning with her heart. As she let her hands drop, she nodded, eyes glittering with tears. "Have you been analyzing me for the last three months to come up with this?"

"No. I've been getting to know you, your patterns and your blind spots. There's a pattern in your insecurity. As long as you have something to cling to, you can override what your heart believes will happen -- suspend disbelief. You clung to the idea that I would work out the career problems. When Beverly took it away from you, the insecurity returned. When you think about our relationship, I want you to forget career and pay attention to your uniqueness and how much that matters to me."

"Because that won't change," she whispered, smiling radiantly. "That's even better as a birthday present than the necklace. Thank you."

"I love you, chère. I want to keep you, as long as you'll stay."

Deanna came around the corner of the table and reclaimed his lap, curling up against him, cheek against his head. "Like you're going to get rid of me now -- you're the only person who's ever seen that. Myself included -- I get so caught up -- hey!"

His sneak attack caught her off guard -- since it was practically in his mouth anyway, he'd bitten her nipple. She wriggled and slid off his knees, all the way to the floor. When he held out a hand to help her up, she took it in both of hers and leaned her head against his knee instead, putting his palm to her cheek.

"What you said before, about wanting to fly -- I used to play Starfleet with Daddy. We used to set up a room like a bridge and take turns doing all the different positions. I made Mr. Homn be the alien."

She paused, and he realized with awe that he'd finally broken through -- she was admitting her ambition, finally, to him and to herself.

"When I left for the Academy Mother said I wouldn't make it."

"Hell," he blurted angrily.

"It wasn't meant in a negative way. She just maintained that I'd really not like it, that I'd see the light and come home, and marry Wyatt, like a good traditional Daughter of the Fifth House, and sit around polishing the musty old pot and the rings. It just made me more determined. She did me a favor in a way. I was so mad at her for trying to pre-judge me that even when we failed the survival test, and other humiliations came along, I kept going. But I wasn't so sure of myself at the Academy -- psychology came so naturally to me, and the shock of how tough the Academy coursework was had a great impact. I couldn't believe the things I was trying to learn. I did well enough, but it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Being the pampered daughter of Lwaxana Troi didn't prepare me for it."

"You've always seemed so self-assured and confident. I never would have guessed any of this, from your demeanor."

She smiled as if doing so would keep her from crying. "There is always a duality at work -- psychologists are expected to have all the answers. What people don't seem to remember is that we don't -- we know how to help others find their own answers. We never tell people how or what, we ask them how or what, in many indirect ways. And we're absolutely rotten at self-diagnosis, but we keep feeling that we have to live perfect lives or our patients will think we won't be good at helping them." Tipping her head back further, she looked up at him; he rubbed his thumb lightly along her cheek beneath her eye while she continued.

"I could look back at myself as a cadet and tell you I lived in mortal fear of failure as an officer, and that it probably carried over into service -- that I lost sight of my childhood dreams in the light of reality, and stuck to what I knew best by default. I don't really know if that's what happened. At this point, it probably doesn't matter much."

"Probably not. But it does matter that you still have a bit of the dream alive. Or does it?" He indulged in a wicked grin. "How does that make you feel?"

"Oh, please -- Counselor Picard?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Doesn't seem quite right, does it?"

"You'd just order your patient to shape up -- any other patient, that is. That doesn't work." She rolled her eyes. "Heaven knows I've wanted to try it, though."

"So psychology came first and the Academy after?"

"I changed my mind several times, before pursuing either. I decided psychology first, because I thought it would help regardless of where I went or what I did -- I certainly don't have a very intimidating command presence going for me, and less of one then. I had to do something to even the odds."

"If you can't intimidate, psychoanalyze?"

"If it works. I've seen you outmaneuver people in interesting situations -- you're not a bad seat-of-the-pants psychologist."

His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Thank you, Counselor. Unfortunately it hasn't helped me figure you out much."

"I disagree." Her eyes began to glow fondly. "I think you're doing very well."

"I have something else waiting for us. Come with me." He helped her off the floor and led her into the living room. She smiled at the sight of the fire in the old fireplace, and sat cross-legged on a cushion near the hearth at his direction. Jean-Luc took another cushion and sat knee to knee with her.

"So in a mind-bending single stroke, we're sitting in a tree house, in front of the hearth in the old Picard family home," she said, glancing at the plate of chocolates he retrieved from the floor behind him. She crossed her arms, elbows on knees, the front of the dress dropping to reveal quite a lot of soft curves as she leaned to accept the morsel he offered.

"You're not wearing a thing under that, are you? You just went prancing through the ship with nothing but a thin dress on."

"Half the time I don't wear underwear. You guess when."

He tried to effect a stern glare and fell short, probably all the way down to lascivious, he thought with a sigh. "You are an evil, evil woman. As if I'll be able to resist looking for panty lines on the bridge every time you come out of the lift, now."

She fed him a chocolate in return. One of the dark chocolate truffles -- the slight bitterness cut the sweet. Her finger traveled across his lips slowly afterward, and he chewed, watching her watch him.

"Would you like to hear a poem?" he asked quietly.

"Did you write it?"

"No. But I think you'll find it entertaining."

"When did you have time to do everything today?"

He took another truffle and moved the plate out of his way, just beyond easy reach. "Some of this I've thought about off and on for a few weeks. Interruptions kept me from finishing it. Shall I begin?"

She sat up and tossed her hair back, then folded her hands in her lap. Her small smile of pleasure and anticipation started the whisper of a burning in his groin. "All right. Let's hear it, then."

Smiling deviously, he propped an elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand, studying her.

"The things about you I appreciate,  
May seem indelicate:  
I'd like to find you in the shower  
And chase the soap for half an hour.  
I'd like to have you in my power  
And see your eyes dilate.  
I'd like to have your back to scour  
And other parts to lubricate.  
Sometimes I feel it is my fate  
To chase you screaming up a tower  
Or make you cower  
By asking you to differentiate  
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer."

"Schopenhauer? Who's that?" she cried. "This isn't what I imagined -- this can't be Shakespeare."

"Why do you think I only quote from Shakespeare? Hush. If you don't know the references, don't worry about it." He let his eyes fall on the line of her thigh, where it disappeared under the skirt bunched up over her calves.

"I'd like successfully to guess your weight  
And win you at a fete.  
I'd like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,  
Falling like water over boulders.  
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.  
Your collar-bones have great potential  
(I'd like all your particulars in folders  
Marked Confidential)."

He touched her hair, her shoulders, traced a line across her collar bones. She watched him, wide eyes varying in levels of incredulity as he continued.

"I like your cheeks,  
I like your nose,  
I like the way your lips disclose  
The neat arrangement of your teeth  
(Half above and half beneath)  
In rows.

I like your eyes,  
I like their fringes.  
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.  
Your upper arms drive me berserk.  
I like the way your elbows work,  
On hinges."

"I've never heard poetry like -- " He silenced her with a finger to her lips.

"I like your wrists,  
I like your glands,  
I like the fingers on your hands.  
I'd like to teach them how to count,  
And certain things we might exchange,  
Something familiar for something strange.  
I'd like to give you just the right amount  
And get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.  
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.  
I like your legs when you unwind them.  
Even in trousers I don't mind them.  
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.  
I like the little crease behind them.  
I'd always know, without recap,  
Where to find them."

She fell into the rhythm of the words at last, her eyes beginning to echo the intensity of what he was feeling. When his finger stroked the inside of her knee, her leg followed the movement, unfolding.

"I like the sculpture of your ears.  
I like the way your profile disappears  
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.  
I'd like to cross two hemispheres  
And have you chase me.  
I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers  
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.  
I'd like you to embrace me."

He leaned until he could smell the chocolate on her breath, stopping short of a kiss. She was trying not to tremble; her lips parted slightly.

"I'd like to see you ironing your skirt  
And cancelling other dates.  
I'd like to button up your shirt.  
I like the way your chest inflates.  
I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt  
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.  
I'd like you even if you were malign  
And had a yen for sudden homicide.  
I'd let you put insecticide  
Into my wine.  
I'd even like you if you were the Bride  
Of Frankenstein  
Or something ghoulish out of  
Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde.  
I'd even like you as my Julian  
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.  
How melodramatic  
If you were something muttering in attics  
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean  
Mathematics."

He could tell from her eyes that he lost her comprehension at Bride of Frankenstein, but it didn't matter. She'd pick it up again with the next verse.

"You are the end of self-abuse.  
You are the eternal feminine.  
I'd like to find a good excuse  
To call on you and find you in.  
I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin,  
And see you grin.  
I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,  
I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,  
I'd like to make you reproduce.

I'd like you in my confidence.  
I'd like to be your second look.  
I'd like to let you try the French Defence  
And mate you with my rook.  
I'd like to be your preference  
And hence  
I'd like to be around when you unhook.  
I'd like to be your only audience,  
The final name in your appointment book,  
Your future tense."

Their lips met again, and when she tried to follow him as he pulled away he slipped the truffle he'd been holding in her mouth. She watched him, chewing absently.

He caressed her leg, from knee to hip, dragging the muslin along to expose her thigh. His lips brushing the inside of her leg, just behind the knee, made a definite impact; she shuddered but waited, gasping a little as he traveled in slow increments up her thigh. He felt the fire rising between them and this time it was different -- it wasn't overwhelming his senses as it had before. He was in control.

So his surreptitious study of Betazoid methodologies had paid off.

"Cygne sur le feu," he whispered. The tickle of air against her skin made her shudder again. "My flaming swan. Firebird."

She arched her back and slowly lowered herself to the floor, arms wide open, palms to the ceiling. He could taste her arousal before his tongue even made contact; she whimpered breathlessly while he savored her and took as much of her as he could into his mouth. The flames were there, rising, and he knew when she reached the peak and sent her over with a gentle tease and suck.

While she lay panting, still quivering, he rid himself of his clothes and lay next to her, pulling the dress off -- another reason to appreciate loose clothing, it slipped off the body in almost any direction. She shifted to allow him to pull it over her head.

"Any more poetry?" she whispered.

"Just you, chère. Would you like me to continue?"

"Really one of the dumber questions you've asked me."

Her mouth still tasted like chocolate. In the negotiation of body parts, they ended up facing each other on their sides, her hips moving around trying to make the connection. She lost patience and shoved, climbing on him, and he groaned when she finally had her way -- her softness, her wetness, sliding down over the ache and heat, turned the flames into a bonfire, a forest fire --

He felt it all, every slip of his hand against her wet skin, every grind of her hips, and the waves of heat and need radiating from both of them. Her moans and gasps at the tightening of his hands as he enjoyed the firmness of her buttocks and the fullness of her breasts excited him all the more. He whispered her name, tasted her mouth, her skin, balancing passion and control delicately while pursuing her pleasure, which in turn became his. She felt like a flame against him, his firebird, burning and writhing and seeking still more, her mouth on him constantly. They were entwined, as the poem had claimed. He could feel the climax coming and couldn't tell whose it was, not that it mattered since they were so caught up in each other's passion it would surely sweep the other off the edge as well. She moaned, his arms tightened around her, she moaned louder, then screamed his name --

His heart leaped out of his chest -- it felt like it anyway. It felt like falling and flying and floating, and she was there -- he was reminded of his first spacewalk at the Venus station while in training, twisting in vacuum and turning to see the sun filling the night sky with brilliance, the disc larger than he'd imagined -- only he was the flame, Deanna was the flame, and they were the sun. He was certain she was laughing -- they both were, and the joy of flight and the music of passion bound them together.

'Where once was duality there will always be one heart. . . .'

\-- and then they were down again, his hand finding her head to hold when she collapsed against his chest in limp abandon.

He laughed, airless and weak, and kissed her forehead. He must have passed out briefly; he opened his eyes again and found she'd gotten another cushion from the sofa and put it under his head, and that she'd found water. She held the cup up to his lips. Some of it spilled down his chest, where it felt colder than it was.

"You'll have to do more reading up on this," she murmured, stroking his face. "Whatever it was you've been reading when you think I'm not noticing, it's working."

He propped himself up on an elbow on his side, beginning to feel the spots where too much activity on the floor had caused soreness. She rolled off her knees, leaning into him, draping herself over his body and resting her chin on his shoulder.

He got lost in her eyes for a moment; it was as though they inhabited the same skin, her emotions were so palpable for a short eternity that he almost believed he could touch them. When he finally spoke it was with a dry mouth, as if he hadn't had anything to drink at all.

"Was that like last time? Was it the same?"

"Better. Were you. . . aware? Do you remember it? It seemed to me that you were there all along, this time."

"I remember it all," he said softly, touched her lips with a knuckle. "You've completely spoiled me now, you know."

Her pleasure was palpable to him, he realized, and she wasn't even laughing. "Is there a bed in this simulation? I think I hit my elbow on something."

"We should get out of the holodeck. We've probably overrun our time slot -- oh, damn. I don't remember whether I put the privacy lock on."

She scrambled, he groped for clothing, and they used the tablecloth for cleaning up somewhat -- no sense in hiking through the ship smelling like an orgy when the holodeck would do away with the evidence. She hid the flowers under her loose dress, but her nonchalance was ruined entirely by the trace of a satisfied smile that lingered in spite of all her effort. He didn't care. He'd worked damn hard for that smile.

They only passed a few people; the latter half of beta shift meant gamma was only beginning to stir, and alpha was mostly asleep. They reached his quarters without incident and stood in the front room for a moment in a slight daze. The change of venue was that drastic.

"Cygne et poisson en vol," he muttered.

"Swan and. . . ."

"Fish, in flight," he finished.

She considered it a moment, then grinned. "You know, I'll bet we could come up with a few interesting Tamarian-esque phrases for -- "

"I can see I'm not going to get much sleep tonight," he said, attempting irritability but only managing a vaguely-disgruntled smugness. He swatted her toward the bedroom door, hit the lock, and had his shirt off before he made it into the next room.

* * *

  
"Sensor sweeps are conclusive -- there are no traces that the Maquis have left the system." Data turned to look at Ward as he spoke.

"In fact, the opposite seems indicated -- they arrived within hours of the attack on the *Valiant,*" Ward said. "Chroniton decay indicates they had the cloaking devices operational within the system as well. They sneaked in and landed on the other side of the planet, apparently."

The tensions of the senior staff ran high at the moment. The possibility of a battle always made them nervous. Deanna didn't care for the idea either and tried to think of anything to contribute that might prevent a violent confrontation.

"And we've found no signs of them on the surface." Jean-Luc made it a half-question.

"We found traces that people had been there -- on a world in the process of being terraformed, there should be no footprints or paths on the ground. But we found no sign of a settlement, or ships landing." Data's apologetic smile confirmed what Deanna had already guessed from the reports she'd peeked at. "There are indications of intentional dampening fields -- the phenomenon appears to be naturally-occuring, due to a combination of ore deposits that do exist on Galisi. However, the area affected is too symmetrical."

"An away team would be able to see what the sensors can't," Deanna said. She sensed Caleb's surprise, and the acknowledgement of her fellow officers. Ignoring Caleb, who sat to her right with Dr. Mengis between them, she met Data's eyes across the table. "I'll go."

"Counselor, I believe -- "

She met the captain's eyes directly for the first time since the meeting convened. "I would be able to sense even people I cannot see. They may have taken more precautions to conceal their base of operations from the ground. I could sense which direction to take, and since there is no biomass on the planet to generate any interference I would be assured of accuracy. We may be able to prevent further violence, either in space or on the ground, if we locate them and take them into custody quickly."

He considered it for mere moments, resisting the idea, and she knew why. Violence was likely no matter where the Maquis were confronted. His face gave away nothing other than the fact that he pondered the matter.The other officers were tense and anticipating his answer; Caleb radiated skepticism.

"Commander Data, select an away team. Include Commander Troi. Dismissed."

The room emptied, and Deanna went with the crowd, sensing the growing trepidation in the captain and not wanting to exacerbate it by remaining. She stopped at tactical and waited for deLio to finish instructing his relief. Data exchanged glances with her on the way into the lift; she nodded. "I'll be in the next lift with deLio."

Data went in the lift with Caleb and Mendez. When deLio turned to join her, she handed him the padd she'd been carrying. "Could you give this to the captain?"

The L'norim studied her soberly. He probably hadn't missed the fact that she could barely whisper, or that she hadn't simply gone back to hand it to him. He took the padd and said, "I shall be back in a moment."

True to his word, the security chief came up the bridge from the briefing room a moment later. He didn't look at her as they entered the lift together. She could feel the eyes of the officers around the bridge, and the unusual hush that had fallen told her everyone was aware something serious was happening.

She closed her eyes in the lift and groped for composure. Stilling her own fears and blocking out Jean-Luc's occupied her all the way to the transporter room.

 

* * *

Jean-Luc knitted his fingers and stayed at the head of the table, staring out at the pale glow of Galisi.

Really, she had the easier task. She would be doing something to distract her from the danger. He was the one who had to wait, with little to do but endure. The thought didn't help matters.

The door opened again, and deLio approached. He stood over his captain, solemn as always. Jean-Luc looked up at him and waited for him to speak.

"Self-sacrifice is the noblest of acts. I will do everything in my power to bring her back to you."

Jean-Luc, rigid and unable to move a muscle without losing himself completely, stared at the L'norim, trying to reconcile this sudden outburst -- for silent deLio, it was both -- from his taciturn security chief. At length he managed to rasp, "Thank you."

deLio nodded. "She asked me to give you this." He handed him a padd, did an about face, and marched from the room.

Jean-Luc waited a full five minutes. When his eyes were aching from staring at the planet, he cleared his throat. "Computer, secure the door, open on my voice authorization only."

Turning away from the windows, he looked at the padd. A poem. Kahlil Gibran, from the notation at the top. This must be what she'd been up to that morning, when she'd gone in the bedroom in the middle of breakfast. She'd known that early that an away team might be necessary, probably guessed from glancing over his shoulder at the reports from the prior afternoon.

*When love beckons to you, follow him,  
Though his ways are hard and steep.  
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,  
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.  
And when he speaks to you believe in him.  
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.  
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.  
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.  
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,  
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.  
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.  
He threshes you to make you naked.  
He sifts you to free you from your husks.  
He grinds you to whiteness.  
He kneads you until you are pliant;  
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.  
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure.  
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,  
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.  
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.  
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;  
For love is sufficient unto love.  
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.  
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.  
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:  
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.  
To know the pain of too much tenderness.  
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;  
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.  
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;  
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;  
To return home at eventide with gratitude;  
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.*

"Deanna," he whispered.

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, letting the tears flow. Deanna -- he could see her as a little girl, playing starship with her father. Her determination to make it through the Academy, to spite her mother and follow her father. Her difficulty with the bridge officer's test -- he remembered Will talking about her struggle to send someone to their death to save the ship. Her wavering, her willingness to give up the dreams of a Starfleet career for good, for him -- then her capitulation to his insistence that she shouldn't allow it to happen, her faith in him that it wouldn't be necessary. Her taking the final step -- volunteering herself.

She was flying into the face of danger, for him, his little swan, his firebird.

She'd been flying into danger all along -- she'd never lost her fear that their relationship would end as so many others she'd known had. She knew it might end in death, in heartbreak, in separation and anger, knew the anguish of all those things as only an empath could -- she had come to him anyway, stepped into his arms from the first and never out of them in spite of her fear. She doubted, but didn't let it hinder.

She had questioned whether she was suitable for him. The only question left to him was whether he was worthy of her. Beverly had frozen in fear, Nella had transferred, he hadn't been ready to accept Jenice -- the rest were never more than a thought. Deanna had challenged him to succeed where he'd failed before.

She did her duty joyfully. He had to do the same.

Somehow, he twisted all the pain into a knot, set it aside, and took a deep breath. Pausing to be sure his face was dry and his uniform straight, he put on the demeanor of the captain of the ship and went out on the bridge.

* * *

 

The quiet whirr of tricorders and the crunch of boots on the rubble-strewn slope were the only sounds. Galisi's lack of higher life forms made for a desolate landscape. Most of the dirt and rock was a boring shade of grey.

Deanna followed Data at a slow rising angle across the steep slope. She kept her senses trained on the surroundings, not allowing herself irritation at Caleb's annoyance at her presence on the team. He thought she would be a liability. deLio and his five security officers were reassuringly calm and alert.

"Sir, look." She pointed down the slope. Another track slanted down at an angle. Several yards ahead it rose to merge with the more traveled trail they were on.

"It would be reasonable to assume that the trail we are on is more likely to lead to their encampment." Data held up a tricorder. "It would appear there is a dampening field in effect, as we expected."

"It's too easy to do that," Deanna muttered. "We keep running into them."

Data smiled in mild amusement. "But it does make sense that anyone who has something to hide would use them as a matter of course, Counselor. Fortunately, we are becoming more adept at detecting anomalous sensor readings that give away the game."

"Very good, Data. You're getting much better at using euphemisms naturally. That sounded very smooth."

"Thank you, Deanna. It is but another example of your counseling expertise." It was always satisfying when friends and fellow officers could slip from one role to the other -- Jean-Luc wasn't the only one who could do it. But she took pleasure especially in the ones who could slip from friend to officer to patient and still maintain the integrity of each relationship. Data had only recently slipped into that third category, and showed an amazing ability to shift from one role to the next.

She turned her attention up the slope, casting her thoughts outward, and immediately brushed consciousness -- many of them. Exact count eluded her, but the away team was outnumbered. She pulled her phaser, and heard the others follow her lead. Caleb did so only after the security officers had, still uncertain and annoyed.

"Counselor?" Data prompted.

"Outnumbered. They're not aware of us yet. The dampening field keeps them from scanning, too." She sorted the empathic data she received, using her years of practice as reference.

"How outnumbered?" deLio asked.

"Four times over, maybe more. There's an overall confidence about them. They probably don't think we'll find them. They believe the abandoned base was convincing enough to send us elsewhere." The abandoned facility had shown too many indications that it hadn't been in use for some time.

"What direction, Counselor?" Data asked.

"It doesn't matter. They're scattered widely. We'll probably be seen the minute we top the slope." She scanned the edge where ground met sky. "The rocks down there might be best. They'd provide some cover, anyway."

"I think we should try to negotiate," Caleb said. "If we could lull them into a sense of -- "

"Just where were you stationed during the war?" Deanna exclaimed. "These are former Maquis. They have nothing to lose, and they know better than to believe anything we tell them. They'll shoot the minute they see us."

"What evidence do we have they're Maquis? It's a good theory, but this isn't exactly the kind of place you'd expect to find them. They're pretty far out from -- "

"Which is why they're here."

"What if they're really Romulans masquerading as Maquis intending to use this as a jumping off point into Federation space? Or what if their accomplices already accomplished whatever it was they hoped to distract us from while we're here puzzling out where they're doing?" Theories they'd already covered in briefings. Stupid bastard. Get the android and the weak empath out in the field and try to take over. His attitude wasn't entirely unusual -- he, like a number of others they'd met, didn't seem capable of making the connection between rank and ability. Then again, maybe he thought Jean-Luc had made a favorite of Data and promoted him beyond his ability as well.

"What if you shut up and follow orders?" Deanna snapped.

Caleb backed a step in shock. A wash of surprise from the security officers, except deLio, who smiled slightly and watched her over Caleb's shoulder. She turned to Data, who had raised an eyebrow and shook himself out of whatever he was thinking. He led them toward the boulders ahead of them.

As Data topped the rise, carefully concealed by the rocks, Deanna struggled up the last steep bit, trying to find a less vertical spot to put her foot to climb the porous rock face jutting out of the rubble. Data turned and held out a hand; her fingers had barely closed on his when the world around her turned to piercing sound, light and agony.

She came to on her back, gasping, coughing at flying dust and still miraculously holding her phaser. Rolling her head, she took in the situation in a few glances -- the rest of the team lay flattened against the slope in a line to her left, their attention torn between her and the edge of the bluff over their heads. To her right --

Oh, Data. Not Data.

The android lay face down, head pointing down the slope, a nasty exit wound ripped through his side, the charred remnants of his uniform fluttering around the hole. Had to be a phaser set on a narrow beam. His head jerked a few times, erratically. It allowed her a little relief; Data could be fixed, hopefully with minimal loss of memory.

"Shut down, Data. I've got it. I'll get you home."

His head turned toward her, then froze. Deanna turned to deLio, looking past Caleb. The security chief had scrambled toward her, and his seafoam green eyes held more concern than she'd seen in them in the last two years. His worry flicked at her like cold tongues through the haze of physiological shock.

She flung her senses outward again. "deLio, phasers on heavy stun, wide dispersal. Cover a full one hundred eighty degree arc over the edge of the bluff, spacing the officers as widely as possible without sacrificing full coverage. They're coming, a lot of them, but they're stopping short of the bluff and waiting just out of range, probably under cover. They must have had a scout watching the rocks from a different angle than we predicted. When they're stunned, we'll make a run for the encampment and see if we can't knock out the field generator."

"Sir. . . ."

She followed deLio's gaze and her stomach wrenched at the blood on the front of her uniform. A shard of rock, probably splintered from one of the boulders in the phaser fire, protruded from her abdomen. She hadn't felt a thing, but the sight of it started the beginnings of pain.

"Follow my orders, Commander deLio. Take my phaser. Get into position and wait for my mark. I'll lure them in closer. Stay out of sight until I say."

"I don't think -- "

"Do it, Haymore, or I'll see you up against charges of insubordination." The pain overrode anger now, and her voice had a maddening catch in it. "Do it, now, before I'm no use at all."

deLio and the others scrambled along, forming a long line just below the edge of the bluff. Over her pain, over the roaring in her ears and the burning in her gut, she could still sense the Maquis, out there waiting for them to do something, waiting for a sign that someone was alive -- they could afford to wait forever if they wanted. But the away team couldn't stay there forever. Especially not --

She watched deLio, noticing Caleb's indignant yet worried glances at her and ignoring them as much as she could. When the L'norim nodded, she let her head fall back into the dirt, inhaled, and called, "Help me!"

Another deep breath, and she could manage more volume. The effort tore at the muscles in her abdomen. She let tears creep into her voice, and pain. "Help me -- Tom! God, the pain -- the blood -- Tom, can you hear me? I know you're out there!"

A flicker of astonished recognition made it through her sublimated pain. She wished she could apologize to him for this, but it was likely he would die in a firefight unless this could be resolved quickly. It was her duty to do this, and her duty to preserve life wherever possible. Throwing herself into the effort, she clenched her fists and screamed.

"Imzadi! Help me -- they're all dead, my God, I'm dying, help me, please. . . ."

She felt it -- he was coming, and bringing the rest with him, ever the cautious one. She waited, holding herself, holding her breath, hovering, then screamed, "Now!"

The sound of phasers, and scrambling and shouting. She passed out briefly with the pain of her efforts. When she opened her eyes, she thought she'd been left behind until a few moments later when the hiss of sliding dirt and rock preceded deLio. He sat next to her and looked down at her, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

"I gave you an order," she mumbled, so awash in pain she couldn't keep the tears from flowing. The spear of pain in her abdomen throbbed; the rest of her body seemed to be going numb.

"As you tell our cadets so eloquently, one of the more difficult aspects of service is knowing when to disobey orders. In this case, the difficulty is minimal. Haymore wishes to be a hero. I wish to preserve my good standing with the captain. We are both best served by our current arrangement." A brief smile lit the usually-mournful face. "And I feel a certain loyalty to my commanding officer that overrides any misgivings I have about Haymore's abilities."

Surprisingly, his rough fingers closed around her hand. She smiled and closed her eyes.

He tried the communicator at regular intervals, not getting through. Floating in a netherworld of pain and detached musings, she tried to move her hip off a pointed rock. Tendrils of searing agony slithered up her spine and made her gasp and sob.

"You shouldn't move."

"deLio, if I don't get back. . . tell him. . . ."

"I think he knows, Deanna."

"Tell him. . . swan and fish, inside out, in the treehouse, forever."

His hand tightened around hers; she barely felt it. "I will do so, Commander."

At last she heard the chirp of a connection made. "deLio to *Enterprise.* Emergency beam-out directly to sickbay, locking on to Commander Troi and Commander Data's signals."

The tingle of a transporter beam was the last thing she knew.

Her head swam for a while until she could convince her eyes to open. Familiar dimly-lit ceiling -- sickbay. She'd been here before. She'd even felt this detached from her body. The fuzziness of a long sedated state was always slow to wear off.

She felt his presence before she could move. Her head moved easily enough, but moving her body brought unpleasant numb throbbing. She heard the closing of his book, and he appeared in her field of vision, his hand closing around her arm.

"Commander," he said quietly, glancing across the room, probably checking on the whereabouts of the night watch. "I am pleased to inform you that while you were otherwise. . . occupied, we have returned to starbase, gotten rid of our passengers, contacted Starfleet a number of times on several issues, and you have been awarded a commendation for your quick thinking and perseverance in the face of what was nearly certain death. And if you're ever unconscious this long again, I'm going to go insane. Where the devil have you been?" His frustration and pain stabbed her head like nails in a melon.

"You have a really pitiful bedside manner," she croaked. Blinking, hating the tears, she stifled the beginnings of a sob and winced at the pain of the effort.

"Chère, I'm sorry -- don't. I shouldn't have done that. I just -- " His fingers drifted over her forehead. With his amazing self-control, he shunted away frustration and focused on relief and love. "It's been three days. I've become part of the night watch here -- they've been teasing me that I'm switching careers pretty late in the game. deLio's been in any number of times. Beverly is still with us -- she took some leave just to supervise. She couldn't stomach the thought of letting Mengis take over -- she told him she knew your physiology best, and you deserved the best care we could give. And Data is back in working order. He said you told him to shut off -- he didn't. He recorded the whole exchange, because he wanted to impress the hell out of H'nayison."

"Was he hurt as bad as he looked?"

"Nothing that couldn't be fixed. You gave us all a scare. You looked like hell -- I stayed on the bridge until end of shift because I knew I could only pretend to work if I didn't see you. And by the time I got down here, they'd cleaned you up -- I'm glad I didn't see what you looked like before."

Deanna took stock of her body and felt odd twinges in spots she hadn't realized had been hurt. "Give me the list. What happened to me? All I knew about was the rock -- the one in my middle."

"Burned skin, along your arm -- you wouldn't have felt that. It was that severe. You're going to have an interesting hair style for a while, the edge of the phaser blast took off a good portion of it." His pain at recounting it throbbed in his throat when he inhaled. "There were. . . numerous shards of rock in your back. I can't remember all the organs affected, I think I must have slipped into a coma at that point in Beverly's report. deLio thought you were dying on the spot."

Deanna remembered the moments spent holding the L'norim's hand. "I was," she whispered. "I know what it feels like. All I could think about were swans and treehouses, the taste of chocolate, and the feel of your hands."

It didn't engender the response she thought it might. He held himself in check, and his hand rested across her forehead. "I could feel it. I must have gone rigid in my chair -- I lost track of what was going on for a few moments. The bridge was quiet, thank heaven, but I could feel the pain, I could feel you leaving. So I thought of swans and treehouses, and tried to hold on to you. deLio gave me your message. I think what I did must have worked."

"Jean, I have to ask," she whispered. "Are you going to be able to send me on another mission?"

"After the way you behaved on the last few missions? Yes. I'll bleed, but I can accept the pain, if only because you expect it of me." She heard the chair being dragged across carpet. He kissed her cheek, laid his head on her shoulder, and put an arm across her chest. His voice took a note she'd only heard in it a very few times before. "As long as you let me cry on your shoulder afterward."

It felt like she hadn't moved her arm in eons. She stroked his head slowly and let him cry, shedding tears of her own as well, until she decided that he'd probably feel embarrassed if she just let it dwindle away to nothing and he was left with the awkward discomfort of knowing the tough starship captain had just succumbed to tears.

"Mon chauve poisson," she whispered, almost getting the pronunciation right. He laughed, even while he still cried, and put his finger in her nose.

She thought that when Selar came in, the doctor would scold, but she only raised a single eyebrow at the two of them stifling laughter and holding each other, and left the room.

"Think she recognized the Vulcan finger-in-the-nose technique?" Jean murmured. "And where did you learn the French word for bald?"

"Have you slept at all?" Now that the grieving ended, she could sense the ragged exhaustion. No wonder he'd been so quick to shed tears.

"Hush. Rest. I expect you to heal as quickly as possible." The curtness of the captain kept him from further expression of the worry and sympathetic hurt. She sensed his embarrassment at his moment of weakness in a public place. Her preventive measure hadn't been entirely effective.

"Read to me," she murmured, not caring what he had, just wanting the sound of his voice and a distraction for them both. She lost track of time, drifting in the fuzziness and weariness. He read to her quietly, the comforting weight of his hand on her shoulder, but more than anything she appreciated the warmth of his love blanketing her until she slept.

She woke in the morning to the sounds of staff greeting Dr. Mengis at the beginning of alpha shift. Jean-Luc's empty chair was the first thing she saw when she forced her eyelids open. She moved, ached, and groaned. Medicine mouth. Yuck.

"Hi." Another slow hauling at her eyelids and she looked up into Beverly's face. The doctor smiled. "You're going to be fine."

"How is he?" Deanna whispered.

The effort expended to not react to the question gave her the answer. Beverly smiled on, clinging to it, and shook her head. "He said you woke up last night. You don't remember talking to him?"

"I do. How is he when he isn't here?"

"As close to normal as I think he could be. Don't worry about that, you're on medical leave until you heal. Let's get you some breakfast."

"I have to worry, it's my job -- how is he, on duty?"

Scowling, Beverly turned to Data, who had joined her at Deanna's right shoulder. "I don't believe this. She's trying to perform an analysis of the captain's mental state."

"The captain is performing within acceptable parameters," Data said. "You should concentrate on your recovery and allow your staff to handle counseling responsibilities as they have been trained to do."

"You see," Beverly began, but she stared in shock at the android as Data leaned forward and continued in a lower tone.

"He misses you on the bridge, as do the rest of us. Mr. Carlisle noted that the alpha shift has become too silent and serious, and though performance has not suffered, I must concur."

"Tell the captain the counselor won't be very happy if he lets crew morale suffer because he's moping."

"I shall." Data smiled and patted her shoulder. "I hope you feel better soon, Deanna."

"So do I, believe me." She tried to sit up after he left. Beverly shook herself out of surprise and helped. "Breakfast?"

"Sure," Beverly said uncertainly, gesturing at someone else. "How do you feel?"

"Did you happen to identify the planet that rolled over me?"

While she endured being propped up and fed and studied by two doctors and a nurse, the doors opened and the captain came in, bringing all activity in sickbay to a halt. He stood at attention at the end of the bed and glared at her. The annoyance was for the onlookers; she could tell he was happy to see her awake and alert. It showed in his eyes before the captain took over completely.

"Counselor."

"Sir." She put her spoon in the bowl on a table at her left elbow.

"Feeling better, I hope?"

"Marginally."

"Data tells me that you have something to say to me."

"I understand you've been moping. It's bad for morale. Stop it."

He glared for another tense moment while the medical staff hovered between disbelief and anticipation. "You're off duty, Counselor."

"Would you like a tally of how many times you have issued orders while off duty, Captain?"

His head jerked back at the parry. "You are off duty, Commander, and I suggest you refrain from following the poor example I've provided. Your colleague, Counselor Davidson, can handle the duties of ship's counselor in the interim."

"Yes, sir."

"Well. Good. I'll just be off to the bridge, then." He pivoted and sped out of sickbay. Deanna smiled.

"Another point scored in the war between the stubborn CO and orders from sickbay," she said, turning to Mengis but including Beverly with a look. "Maybe next time you put him on medical leave he'll pay attention?"

"I doubt it," Mengis said. Beverly giggled, and he scowled at her and headed for his office.

Beverly took the chair Jean-Luc had used last night. "I can see there are still a few things that haven't changed."

"Some things never will. I find it reassuring." Deanna picked up her spoon and tried to be interested in food.

 

* * *

 

Their patrol of the Neutral Zone resumed. Jean-Luc, glad of the chance for everyone to recover, relished the quiet hours of bridge duty and routine ship operations. He ended the seventh uneventful alpha shift in a row and headed for the lift, a few padds in hand. deLio joined him in the lift as his relief had arrived. On deck eight, the doors opened and as Jean-Luc stepped out, deLio said, "Give her my well wishes, sir."

Jean-Luc permitted an amused smile. "I'm sure she knows, deLio. But I'll tell her just the same."

He glanced without concern at the gaggle of lieutenants using the other end of the corridor as a gathering place, and entered his quarters to find Deanna curled up on the sofa, a book upside down on the floor under her dangling fingers. Dixon Hill appeared to be her tranquilizer of choice. She invariably never made it past the second chapter. Vive la difference.

He picked her up, swung her around, and put her on her feet, supporting her as she woke. "deLio -- "

"I know. Every day. I never would have guessed he cared. He's so hard to read most of the time." She smiled wearily and leaned against him.

"All's quiet on the zone, and we've got two weeks to go. Still no sign of the other Maquis cell, but we have plenty of territory left to cover. I thought you were tired of sleeping."

"Data stopped in a little earlier. He recited Starfleet protocols concerning. . . whatever it was. I don't remember, it didn't take long to put me out. I think I'm turning into his nightmare student, but he's patient. And I woke up again and tried to read, but I guess I'm not really as recovered as I thought."

"Don't push too hard." He kissed her and let her go. "There's plenty of time to work on things like that."

"Are you sure you want me to?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking at her, feeling at her. The thought of seeing her as she had been in sickbay hurt. Still, the thought of her performance as an officer, taking the intiative as she had. . . .

"I want you to be happy. I won't accept anything less for you than what you want, professionally or personally."

"I think I can accept that." She smiled contentedly, peering through her eyelids at him. "I don't think I could manage to climb a tree, but it would be lovely if you could hold me for a while."

He let her tug him by the hand to the bedroom. She waited while he lay down and curled up on top of him, chest to chest, face in his neck. He held her and listened to her body, relaxing into one of the exercises he'd learned.

"You're not supposed to be able to do Betazoid meditation techniques, you know," she murmured lazily. "You think you're so canny about it -- if I hadn't been so distracted, I'd have realized what you were up to a long time ago."

"I couldn't let you have all the fun -- I had to find a way to remember what you do to me. You have to remember, my instructors at the Academy put it down in my records -- I'm trainable. And I take my duties very seriously. As hajira -- "

"Shut up and cuddle, Jean Poisson."

He smiled, rubbing the small of her back through the white muslin, enduring the slight jab of her necklace through his uniform. "As you wish, ma petite cygne."

\---------------

_Cygnes en vol - swans in flight_

_Cygnes sur le feu -- swans on fire_

_cygne et poisson - swan and fish _

_chauve - bald_

_petite - little_

_Jean-Luc's poem, actually titled 'Valentine', is by John Fuller. Deanna's is by Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet, and was slightly snipped to fit._


End file.
